


Hell's Neighbours

by SaskiaK



Series: America’s Suitehearts [2]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-05 12:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 80,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11013534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaskiaK/pseuds/SaskiaK
Summary: Sequel to My Own SinsDr Benzedrine gets to go travelling like he always wanted, but was going off his planned itinerary the best idea? Perhaps he needs the guys' help again?





	1. Dr Benzedrine is in Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captured by Power Slavers, Dr Benzedrine finds himself in the hold of ship with other captives waiting to be sold...

Skittering backwards, he took small, quick steps trying desperately not to lose his balance after being shoved, but the manacles biting around his ankles didn't allow enough movement and a fall was inevitable. With his wrists manacled securely behind him and unable to break his fall, he landed heavily on his side, he grimaced in pain as his left elbow and shoulder were jarred painfully. Gasping as multiple sharp stabbing sensations coursed up his rapidly bruising arm and into his neck, he held his breath as the extent of the pain made in the simple act of breathing an uncoordinated nightmare. A loud clang as the barred door closed and locked rang in his ears, as did the accompanying laughter from his jailors. As he lay on the floor, exhausted and weak from the shock of both his imprisonment and the torture he knew would follow, he closed his eyes, hoping it would help him ease the throbbing in his arm and head. It did neither.

Shuffling slowly to the far wall once he had stilled his breathing, he edged his way up into a sitting position using the bars to steady his very shaky balance. Finally he was resting against the bars furthest from the door. Looking about miserably, the first thing he realised, from the gentle rocking motion, was that he was on board ship. Somewhere deep in the hold, the slightly curved wooden sides told him it was an old fashioned sailing ship. Water streamed in tiny rivers down the planks giving the impression it was raining inside, but it could only be due to leaks, the stifling humidity or most likely both.

Around him, stood the bars of a home made but sturdy looking cage allowing him roughly eight feet square. Something told him that, despite the long rows of much smaller cells lining either side of the ship, this had not been designed larger for the purposes of luxury. No, it was either to house more prisoners, or as he tried not to consider, to accommodate his jailors as they inflicted their promised torture.

When he had set out on his travels, he had intended to see the world, experience different cultures, to have new and exciting adventures and to do all the things he had been unable to do when younger. He had not expected, nor wanted, to be kidnapped by slavers and be imprisoned in the hold of their ship destined to be sold into slavery. As he gazed bleakly around his cell, he found himself uttering the understatement of his life.

“You're in real trouble, Silas.”

“It's worse than you think,” came a small voice from further down the long line of cells.

“Who's there?” Benzedrine called, every muscle in his body coming to attention in a fight or flight response - not that he was in any position to do either.

Three, maybe four cells away, the figure of a young woman rose with long mousey brown hair and stared sadly at Benzedrine. She wasn't conventionally attractive, neither was she particularly unattractive. She would be your typical, average young woman that might surprise you with a little make up and a nice dress. The only thing that marked her as different were her unusually large, but pretty, eyes.

“My name's Laura,” she replied unenthusiastically.

“Don't talk to her!” two voices yelled in unison. Almost immediately, two young men could be seen in the equivalent cell on the opposite side of the ship.

Finally a man, roughly in his mid-thirties got to his feet and frowned at Benzedrine.

“Welcome to Hell, kid.”

Benzedrine frowned as he looked around. The woman was roughly his own age, or at least what his own age would be if he lived a normal life. He, himself, was over two and a half thousand years old. To him, it was the most natural thing in the world and he still felt and looked young, but he realised that not everyone would be quite so understanding.

“Who are you all?” he asked knowing that he hadn't introduced himself yet either. But there was always a possibility that they knew exactly who he was already. “What are we doing here? He added.

“You can't possibly be that stupid, boy!” the older man scowled angrily.

Benzedrine frowned, momentarily pondering whether to snap back. Would it help? Probably not, but he wasn't going to allow it.

“I'm not stupid!” he yelled back, letting all of his pent up anger out in one statement. “I don't know who you are; it's a reasonable question!”

“You're here for the same reason we are,” both of the younger men said in unison. “We all have some sort of useful power that they want to harvest. Already, the buyers are being informed of a new catch. What's your power?”

“I… I don't know if…” Benzedrine began hesitantly.

“You might as well tell us, we'll only find out from her,” the older man nodded towards Laura.

Benzedrine's brow creased deeply. “How does she know? We've never even met.”

“You don't have to,” the man explained. “She's a Locator. She's the one that found you, the one that told the slavers where to find you, the one who told them how to capture you. You're here because of her!”

Benzedrine frowned; it seemed an odd claim to be making.

“But she's a prisoner too,” Benzedrine looked over to look at the young woman, her eyes lowered in fear or shame, or possibly both.

“Tell him!” the older man shouted angrily.

“They're telling the truth,” she replied sadly. “I've been here about two years, they use me to find others.”

“And you do, don't you!” the older man growled bitterly.

“Do you have a choice?” asked Benzedrine, fully aware as a doctor that certain drugs could be used to force people to act against their own wishes.

“Of course she has a choice!” the man snapped in return.

“I was asking Laura!” Benzedrine argued in return before turning back to the young woman and asking again in a kindly tone. “Do you have a choice?”

“Yes, I have a choice,” she sighed. “But it's an unacceptable one.”

*

“Wake up!” Sandman cried again as he paced the floor in Patrick's bedroom.

Looking at his hands, he screamed his frustration, as all he could do was make Patrick sleep even deeper.

“What can I do to wake you?” Sandman asked aloud. “Who normally wakes you? Where is he?” he continued in frustration, knowing that no answers would be forthcoming. “I could invade your dream if you were having one! Where's your Sandman? Why isn't he doing his job properly? Wake up, Patrick! Please!”

Patrick stirred, rolling over and muttering.

“Go away, Pete,” he grumbled. “I'm trying to sleep.”

“You can hear me?” Sandman almost shouted, elated. “Patrick, are you awake?”

A loud irritable sigh escaped Patrick's lips as Sandman's loud voice dragged him unwillingly from the comfort of what had been the best night's sleep he'd had all week.

“This had better be good, Pete,” he snapped, before realising that something was wrong. “Pete? How did you get in here?”

Looking up, Patrick's jaw dropped open and he sat up in the bed hurriedly, pulling the sheets up with him in an almost self-conscious attempt to cover his naked torso.

“You!” he cried, astonished to see Mr Sandman standing at the foot of his bed looking somewhat agitated. “You are real!”

“Of course I'm real!” Sandman replied indignantly.

“I'm not dreaming?” Patrick asked, more than a little puzzled.

“No,” Sandman frowned. “It would have been much easier if you were! You know, it's really strange here; I had no idea who to get in touch with to wake you. Normally, when I arrive in a new place, I'd be greeted by the local Sandman and Benzedrine, but no one came!”

“What?” Patrick's brow creased at the words. “Why didn't you just shake me?”

“Shake you?” Sandman frowned in confusion. “What do you mean, shake you?”

“You know…” allowing the covers to fall to his waist, Patrick mimed shaking a sleeping person. “Shake me. Like that.”

“And that wakes you?” Sandman queried, still puzzled by the response.

“Yeah,” Patrick replied, equally puzzled. “Of course it does.”

“What about Mr Benzedrine? I mean, where is he? Does he know that works?” Sandman questioned him, utterly confused.

“We don't have a Mr Benzedrine,” Patrick explained. “Or a Mr Sandman for that matter.”

“What?” Sandman was, by now, totally perplexed. “How do you sleep?”

“Usually pretty well! That is, when I haven't got you yelling at me in the middle of the night. Are you an insomniac or something?”

“Patrick… I'm a Sandman, I don't sleep.”

“No? Well, I do! Goodnight!”

Patrick made a show of pulling the covers up to his neck and flopping down onto the pillow once more, sighing and huffing his disapproval at the interruption of his well-earned rest.

“Patrick!” Sandman almost whined.

“Whatever it is, it can keep!” Patrick snapped, determined to listen to no more.

“Silas is missing,” he explained hurriedly. “I'm worried about him… Patrick, I'm really worried.”

The tone of Sandman's voice, the terrible vulnerability and fear registering in his words captured Patrick's full attention. Pushing back the covers, Patrick stared at Sandman's worried and nervous expression.

“Come on,” he smiled comfortingly as he rose and pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt. “I'll make us some coffee. Tell me everything.”

Patrick led the way to the kitchen with Mr Sandman following behind. As he walked he could almost see Mr Sandman casting a curious eye over his furnishings. This was an odd situation; Mr Sandman, someone he thought was a fictional character that had subsequently found his way into all their dreams, was here, in his house. He had simply appeared in his bedroom and that was strange enough, but strangest of all was that he had just accepted it. Stopping in his tracks, Patrick spun on his heels and eyed Mr Sandman suspiciously.

“What did you do to me?” he asked without further explanation.

“Do to you?” Sandman cocked an eyebrow. “Would you like to be more specific?”

“I'm treating this like you turning up is the most natural thing in the world.”

“Yes,” Sandman smiled. “Refreshing, isn't it?”

“No,” Patrick frowned. “What did you do?”

“Did you see me do anything? But do you realise that for once in my life I woke someone up! I still can't get over it!”

“Don't change the subject. What did you do?”

Sandman shrugged guiltily.

“Okay, so I sort of disabled your shock reflex,” he admitted. “I really didn't have time to deal with you freaking out, but I didn't expect you to realise and quiz me on it.”

“Put it back!” Patrick insisted as they entered the kitchen.

“It is, it really only needs a temporary adjustment. Probably why you're freaking out now.”

“I'm not freaking out!” Patrick snapped.

“Yeah, you kind of are?” Sandman frowned. “Look, Patrick, I need your help and while I'm not going to try to get it the way I tried last time…”

“You mean by tricks, threats and abduction?” Patrick returned narrowing his eyes.

“Well, certainly not by threats, but I've already used a trick on you.”

“I don't hear you ruling out abduction,” Patrick scowled.

“No,” Sandman lowered his eyes guiltily. “I… can't promise that,” Sandman paused before continuing with a hopeful expression. “But I can promise it'll be a last resort.”

“Well, of course, that makes it perfectly acceptable,” Patrick deadpanned.

Sandman frowned briefly. He wanted to see Patrick's point of view, but he wanted to find his brother more.

“You mentioned coffee?” Sandman changed the subject.

Patrick rolled his eyes and nodded. “Come on,” he waved for Sandman to follow him as he headed for the kitchen.

“Umm… what is it?” Sandman asked innocently.

Turning a disbelieving glance in Sandman's direction, Patrick shook his head lightly as he realised Pete's look-a-like was absolutely serious.

“It's a drink, sort of a stimulant,” Patrick explained. “It helps to wake me up.”

Sandman shook his head sadly. “A stimulant? You really do need a Mr Benzedrine! Do you want me to find you one? Sometimes someone will be on the lookout for a new world or maybe I…”

“I'm fine,” Patrick cut in, handing Sandman a steaming mug of coffee. “Careful, it's hot!”

“Do I drink it?” Sandman asked. “Can I? I mean, it's a stimulant, but I don't sleep, so I don't need to wake up.”

“Anyone can have it, people just like it,” Patrick explained.

“Will I like it?” he asked curiously.

“If you're as much like Pete as you seem, you'll be taking it intravenously within the hour.”

Sandman smiled at the comment he took to be a yes as he accepted the mug.

“Okay, now tell me,” Patrick began again. “What's happened to Silas?”

Sandman took a deep breath as he placed the mug on the counter. It was very possible that Patrick would take his concern for his brother lightly. When he thought about it rationally, it didn't seem all that worrying, but in his heart he knew that he should be worried.

“He went travelling,” Sandman half smiled. “He'd always wanted to, everyone thinks he's the quiet one and I'm the adventurous type, but he's not so quiet when you get to know him and me? I'm a real homeboy. I never wanted to leave The Hills, now I don't want to leave the Dream World!”

“Something happened?” Patrick prompted.

“Yeah,” Sandman nodded, his face creased with concern. “He was keeping up with his job, sort of long distance.”

“He can do that?” Patrick replied, astonished.

“Oh, yeah, it's a real skill, not all Benzedrines can do it.”

Patrick's lips turned up in a subtle smile; the look of pride on Sandman's face as he talked about his brother's skills and abilities showed him just how close the pair had grown over the last few weeks.

“It was going well for the first few years…”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Patrick interrupted. “Years? What do you mean - years?”

Sandman stared at Patrick, his face contorted in an expression of thoughtful puzzlement.

“I must admit, it did occur to me that you didn't look any older,” he finally spoke. “How long has it been here?”

“A few weeks,” Patrick replied, equally confused.

“I don't understand,” Sandman shook his head. “But then, I was watching Pete for quite a while before I came through last time. Perhaps I've never noticed that our time doesn't run in synch?”

“How can you not notice that?” Patrick cried in amazement. “You have years and we have weeks and you didn't notice!”

“Patrick, I'm three thousand years old! A year or two to me can slip by while I weave a good dream! I'm hardly likely to notice a few more, am I?” Sandman replied taking a mouthful of coffee and smiling appreciatively. “You're right, this is good!” he added, nodding enthusiastically for emphasis.

Patrick stood in shock. There had been numerous mentions of time-spans through which he really should have realised that the brothers, their family and possibly others too reached considerable ages, but somehow it had not even registered with him. It now made sense to him that years could pass in Carousel but only weeks in his world. Now, more than ever, he realised how he had spent days in Carousel, yet perhaps only seconds had passed, making it seem all the more dreamlike than ever.

“Okay,” Patrick nodded as he collected his thoughts and got his mind back on track. “So he went travelling and he kept doing his job whilst he was on the move. Did he stay in touch with you? Is that it?”

“No, it's hard to stay in touch,” Sandman sighed. “Each district is so different, we can't guarantee we can find a compatible communicator, or even one at all. I haven't spoken to him for eighteen months.”

“Well, what makes you think that he's in trouble?” Patrick asked; his brow creased in mild confusion.

“Because no one's woken up for three days,” Sandman announced bleakly. “Something must be wrong. Please help me Patrick, everyone's asleep, I can't turn to anyone else.”

 


	2. Benzedrine's mind is read... no, ransacked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To find out who he is, Martha - a Reader - ransacks Dr Benzedrine's mind leaving him weak and defenceless

“Why do you do this?” Benzedrine asked, looking over at Laura.   
“I told you not to talk to her!” both of the young men shouted in unison.  
“I make my own decisions!” Benzedrine snapped back before turning back to Laura.  
“Okay,” they continued. “Ask your questions, get your answers, but you’ll only end up the same way as us.”  
Ignoring them, Benzedrine continued. “What is the choice you have that’s so unacceptable? Are they threatening to kill you?”  
“I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t need your pity,” she replied without even looking up.  
“I’m not asking so I can pity you,” Benzedrine replied with a firm, yet comforting tone. “I’m asking so that, maybe we can work out a way to get out of here.”

At the words, both the older man and the twins began to laugh. It was a hearty yet cynical laugh that both annoyed and frustrated Dr Benzedrine. It was as though he was being criticised for not knowing everything they already knew or for daring to want to try to escape. Maybe they had tried and failed, maybe they hadn’t tried at all? He didn’t know and he didn’t care. Just because they didn’t think it possible, it didn’t mean that it was impossible and he would try, he would try with every ounce of energy he had, simply because the alternative was unbearable.

“There is no way out of here,” Laura replied. “Not unless they sell you.”  
“What do they have on you?” Benzedrine insisted. “Tell me!”  
“It won’t make any difference,” she replied, her previously calm voice showing the signs of strain.  
“Humour me!” Benzedrine tried again.  
“They have my brother,” she finally answered him. “If I don’t do what they want, they’ll kill him.”

Benzedrine’s face fell. He knew exactly what she was going through. It hadn’t been the same circumstances, but it had been through adversity that he and his own brother had grown close again and had managed to put aside their petty squabbles. He tried to think about how he would react if Marcus’ life was threatened and he could only conclude that despite the terrible fate it would inflict on others, he would do exactly the same – he would keep his brother safe.

“I understand,” he replied quietly, with a nod.  
Laura looked up, shocked. “You do?”  
Benzedrine nodded. “I’d probably do the same,” he admitted. “I mean, I’m not saying I’m happy to be here, but I do understand.”  
“Well, I don’t, boy!” the older man boomed.  
“Stop calling me boy!” Benzedrine yelled back. The sheer irony being that in terms of years, despite looks and signs of age, he was older than them all put together.  
“Then what do we call our over-sensitive, painted, new arrival?”  
“Silas,” Benzedrine replied, trying to remain calm despite the man’s sarcasm. “My name’s Silas.”  
“Oh don’t be shy!” a voice piped up from the corner that had, so far, remained silent. Standing, another woman, slender with long black hair rose and approached the bars. “Why don’t you tell us your full name?”  
“You don’t need my full name,” Benzedrine replied nervously, suddenly feeling intimidated by the hostility in the room.

Leaning on the bars, the woman regarded him coolly, her stare so intense that Benzedrine wanted desperately to look away, but to his dismay found he couldn’t.

“What are you doing?” Benzedrine cried as he felt his mind being almost ransacked.  
“Let him go!” Laura shouted as she saw the pained glazed look in Benzedrine’s eyes as the woman tore through his conscious mind with no regard for his pain.  
“Martha,” the older man added sternly, suddenly feeling pity for the newcomer. It was bad enough that they had mocked him for wanting to escape without attacking him so recklessly and thoughtlessly. “Let him go! Now!”  
“Very well,” she sighed irritably. 

As she retreated from his mind, Benzedrine could barely coordinate himself to remain standing. His eyes clouded over and the room seemed to tilt as he found himself crashing to the floor unconscious. The woman watched with satisfaction in the knowledge that all eyes were on here. Drawing on the energy and tension in the room, she topped up her slightly depleted powers.

“What’s the matter with you!” Laura shouted. “You’ve hurt him!”  
“No,” Martha snapped back, “you hurt him, and all of us, by bringing us all here. I just wanted to find out a bit more about him. Make sure he’s not here to spy on us or something.”  
“Spy on us!” Laura snorted in derision. “We’re prisoners here! It’s not as though they need to get someone in special to…”  
“What did you find out?” the twins asked, cutting through Laura’s tirade.

Turning with a sly smile towards the twins, Martha paused slightly as she glanced towards the older man, drawing them all in and making them wait momentarily for the information she knew they were wanting to hear.

“Well, for starters, he’s from The Hills,” Martha began, glad to be holding centre stage, “and his name is Silas Paul Benzedrine.”  
“He’s a Benzedrine?” the older man seemed suddenly impressed.  
“That’s not all,” she said proudly. “He’s an unusually powerful one, he’s been travelling and still waking the people of his district on his travels.”  
“But The Hills is hundreds of miles away,” the older man replied.  
“Thousands,” the twins corrected.  
“He can do that from this distance?” he asked. “Does he have any other powers? Not that that isn’t enough for those bastards,” he added nodding upwards to indicate the slavers on deck.  
“Why don’t you ask her?” Martha waved a hand in Laura’s direction.  
“Well?” the twins asked.  
“He can manipulate energy, move matter and… he can make you forget you’ve seen him, so he can move virtually undetected. But for all of that, he needs the use of his hands.”  
“That’s why he’s manacled,” the man nodded now almost sympathetic. “They’re going to inject him, aren’t they?”  
“Probably,” Laura nodded wretchedly.  
“But that’s not all,” Martha interrupted the sudden wave of empathy for the now slowly waking Benzedrine. “I think Laura’s next task is going to be to find his brother.”  
“Why?” Laura asked quietly.  
“Why?” Martha smirked. “He’s a Sandman.”

*

“What are we waiting for?” Sandman complained as he paced Patrick’s kitchen in what seemed an unnaturally fast motion.  
“For the guys,” Patrick explained calmly, eyeing Sandman with a frown – he had long since decided that giving a Sandman coffee was, in retrospect, not the best idea.  
“Still?” he replied, clearly agitated. “How long are they going to be?”  
“They’re not all local,” Patrick tried to explain. “It takes time.”  
“I don’t have time!” Sandman cried. “Don’t you see? I’ve just worked out that every minute that passes here is half an hour in Carousel. In ten minutes time, that’s five hours! The longer we wait, the worse it could be. How long will they be?”  
“A few hours, minimum,” Patrick gave a resigned sigh as he saw the expression of desperation and helplessness on Sandman’s face. “Pete knows where the spare key is. I’ll leave a note for them, we can go now, do some investigation.”

There were no words for his relief, just a sincere hug that almost winded Patrick as Sandman rushed forward and gripped him tightly.

“Okay, okay!” Patrick gasped out. “Let me write the note. How will we know when to come back to collect them?”

Sandman nodded thoughtfully before extending his palm and closing his eyes. Patrick watched in astonishment as a clear glass ball, roughly the size of a tennis ball, appeared in Sandman’s hand. Placing it close to his lips, Sandman whispered a few words and within moments, a black swirling mist began to form within the ball. 

“Okay,” Sandman smiled as he handed the glass orb to Patrick. “Tell them to smash this when they get here.”  
“Smash it?” Patrick queried, his pen hovering over the paper.  
“Yeah, they can throw it against the wall or something,” he replied helpfully.  
“No they can’t!” Patrick objected. “I’ll be picking tiny pieces of glass out of my feet for months!”  
Sandman couldn’t help but chuckle. “No,” he shook his head and laughed again at the sight of Patrick’s indignance. “Technically it will smash, but it’ll just disappear the moment it does. When it breaks the message will be released.”  
“Message?” Patrick had forgotten how difficult it was to talk to people of Carousel sometimes; they seemed to lack the basic understanding that Normal Worlders had no knowledge of their powers and abilities.  
“You don’t use these?” Sandman asked with surprise in his tone. “You should! They’re really useful. You put your message inside and when it’s broken, you both hear it, so they know what you wanted to say and you know they got it.”  
“We use text messaging,” Patrick replied, lifting his cell phone by way of explanation.

Sandman smiled gently, a pitying expression forming.

“Aww! An electronic device.” he grinned. “How quaint!”  
“It may be old fashioned,” Patrick began, a little defensively, “but at least I can keep in touch with people when they’re away.”

Sandman lowered his eyes; perhaps if he’d had some method of keeping in touch with Silas none of this would have happened?

“I’m sorry,” Patrick added quietly, looking contrite.   
“No, it should be me apologising. Sometimes I say things without really thinking,” Sandman looked up once more, offering Patrick a faint smile.  
“Don’t worry,” Patrick smiled finishing the note. “Let’s go.”

*

Benzedrine opened his eyes and sighed anxiously. His mind was in turmoil. He had no idea how she had managed it, but his thoughts were in disarray. It was as if all of his carefully ordered thoughts and memories had been scattered randomly around his mind.

“Silas?”

The voice was female and, at first, that was all he could distinguish. Groaning in his distress, Benzedrine tried to move only to remember that he was manacled at his wrists and ankles. His lack of coordination made it impossible for him to raise himself back to a sitting position and finally, giving in, he slumped back, resting his head on the floor, not caring that he was lying on damp, dirty wooden boards.

“What did you do to him?” Laura asked turning and glaring angrily at Martha. 

Out of all of the prisoners who had come and gone from the slave ship, Silas had been the only one who had actually been kind to her. He had said he understood what she had done and he had said it without a hint of malice in his tone. She always felt bad when she was forced to assist in the location and abduction of an individual with unique powers, but in his case she felt utterly wretched because he was so kind. He didn’t deserve to be there, let alone be treated so very badly by another prisoner. 

“Well?” she prompted as Martha simply ignored her out of hand.  
“Well what?” Martha shrugged indifferently.  
“You hurt him!” Laura couldn’t believe she had to state the obvious fact.  
“He’ll get over it,” Martha sighed uncaringly in return. “See,” she added nodding towards Benzedrine’s cell, “I told you.”

Laura turned and her heart sank as she saw Benzedrine – pale, drawn and dirty, turning awkwardly onto his back and still taking deep breaths to regain his equilibrium.

“What did you do?” Laura asked again, frustrated to have not received a reply.  
“You know what I did!” Martha snapped sitting back on the thin bunk that equipped her cell. “I found out who he is.”  
“Like that!” Laura yelled angrily. “You nearly…”  
“Why?” Benzedrine asked, his voice somehow cutting through the noise of Laura’s tirade.

All sound ceased as the question resonated amongst them – why had she done it? She didn’t need to. Her excuse of him possibly being a spy seemed nonsense. Martha suddenly felt uncomfortable as she sensed that all eyes were on her.

“Why did you do it?” Benzedrine pushed. “You didn’t just read my mind, you decimated it!”  
“I…” Martha paused as she saw that Benzedrine now had the sympathy of the room. “I don’t trust you.”

It was a questionable reply by any standards and the tension was only broken by light streaming in from the newly opened hatch above them. Squinting in the sudden bright light, all eyes looked up. If he had been sufficiently recovered, Benzedrine would perhaps have noticed that he was the only one in the room that didn’t seem to know what was about to happen.


	3. Don’t make me have to deal with your misery too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benzedrine is injected with a compound that governs the use of his powers and Patrick returns to Carousel

Dr Benzedrine should have been paying closer attention, but he wasn’t. The feeling that his conscious mind had been forced through a blender still hadn’t left him and now the darkness, stifling heat and stale air of the ship’s hold had found something of a reprieve as the hatch was opened. The grim, expectant faces of the twins and Laura in particular should have warned him that everything was about to get much worse. But what if it had? Was there anything he could realistically do about it? He was grateful to have been able to shuffle until he sat upright, sighing with relief as his balance recovered enough to keep him there. 

The clatter of boots on the steps down into the hold finally drew his attention, and before long, he thought he realised the purpose of their visit. As they came to a halt outside the door to his cage, he looked up, trying so hard to appear defiant, but realising without much effort that he was probably failing. Instead, he seemed nervous and apprehensive and the longer they stared at him, the worse he felt. As they stood, four of them, staring intently at him, ginning at his obvious nervousness, Benzedrine heard more footsteps on the stairs. These moved much more slowly than the others had. They were purposeful, deliberate and intimidating. Benzedrine noted that his breathing had grown noisy, coming to him in slightly shaky and shallow gulps. As the man reached the bottom of the stairs, Benzedrine realised that the only sound in the room was his own breathing. 

The man was tall thin and dark, his sun and weather-beaten swarthy skin almost leathery and wrinkled beyond his years. The man had clearly been at sea all his life and probably this was all he had ever known. Benzedrine’s heart sank; this man knew what he was doing and how to get what he wanted.

“Well now,” he began slowly, deliberately. “I’ve been collecting for some years now and I don’t believe I’ve ever got me a Benzedrine before. Do you realise how rare you guys are?”  
“Of course I do!” Benzedrine snapped, to his own great surprise. He hadn’t wanted to be intimidated by the man, but he was, yet somehow, so far he had managed to hide it and even give the opposite impression. How long he could keep up the pretence, he didn’t know.

The man chuckled to himself, briefly. He had the upper hand and he knew it, there wasn’t anything that Benzedrine could do to prevent what was going to happen.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Benzedrine demanded.  
“You know,” he began, signalling for the door to be opened. “I don’t need to tell you anything and very soon, you’ll understand why.”

Benzedrine knew instantly that something very bad was going to happen. The evidence spoke for itself – he was securely manacled at his wrists and ankles, yet four men had just entered the cage, their fixed determined stares made it plain that they had a very specific job to do. Only now did he notice that the man carried a small bag that he placed on the bunk only a few feet from where Benzedrine sat. 

“I’m sure you understand by now that you’re going to fetch me a very nice price and I’m not going to risk that by letting you use your not inconsiderable powers. But, I can’t keep you in manacles until I sell you.”  
“You’re going to spin me some garbage about it being inhuman?”  
“Oh no!” he laughed in an arrogant and condescending manner. “Like that, you’re too high maintenance, and there’s always a risk you’ll escape. I’m about to remove that risk.”  
“You won’t stop me trying!”

The corners of his mouth turned up as he offered Benzedrine a cruel sneer.

“Oh, yes I will. Boys, hold him.”

Benzedrine struggled violently as he was dragged away from the wall into the centre of the cell, before being pushed to the floor and held firmly. One of the men sat astride his back to pin him, simultaneously pushing down on both arms so that the chain around his wrists was pulled tight. Forcing his head so that his chin almost touched his chest, two men held Benzedrine’s head firmly in place, the fourth man pinning both legs.

“I suggest you stop struggling,” the leader confided. “This is going to hurt quite enough without making it worse for yourself.”

Benzedrine should have listened. He knew he should have, but his stubborn pride and determination led him to continue trying to pull free.

There was no anaesthetic, not even a warning, but the long needle being forced into his neck where his spine met his skull caused such excruciating pain that Benzedrine felt he would pass out where he lay. Far from his muscles relaxing in a conscious effort to stop struggling, each of them seized as his body tried to pull away from the needle. Screaming in his agony as the needle was forced upwards inside his brain, Benzedrine’s resolve and determination to fight them fell away as his muscles, racked with pain, gave up and sagged limply. An icy cold sensation snaked through his head sending both sharp and dull pains not only through his head and neck but all the way down his body. 

As he lay, breathless and gasping on the floor, it was moments before he finally realised that the syringe had been removed, as had the manacles. Finally he noted that all five men had left the hold and that he was in a different cell entirely, a much smaller one like the others. He knew now that more than moments that had passed; it had probably been hours. Pushing himself upright he gathered his wits before asking the question he dreaded the answer to.

“What did they do to me?”   
“Are you okay, kid?” The older man asked sympathetically.  
“They took my chains off!” It was as if Benzedrine had realised for the first time. “I can get us out of here,” he added in what would have been an elated tone but for his extreme tiredness.

“No!” Laura shouted as she saw Benzedrine’s right hand extending towards the lock on the door to his cage as he rose shakily to his feet.

Benzedrine looked up at the urgency of her cry, but it was already too late. Frowning as he felt no surge of energy through his fingers, Benzedrine’s brow creased as he wondered why he couldn’t use his powers, but the damage was already done.

Later it would be hard for him to work out the exact sequence of events that followed as his arm fell back at his side. A crushing pain ran behind his eyes, seemingly threatening to burst through the top of his skull as each of the nerves in his brain were compressed slightly. The pain was so debilitating, he hadn’t the energy to even cry out. His legs gave way at roughly the same time the blood drained from his skin leaving a deathly pallor. Dropping like a stop to the floor, the blackness of unconsciousness quickly claimed him.

The ship’s hold remained in silence for a few moments, broken eventually by the sounds of muffled sobbing emanating from Laura’s cell. She felt responsible for his capture and torture despite being forced to under the threat of her brother’s murder. But she wasn’t alone in her belief – no words of comfort followed. 

*

Patrick was falling. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation, in fact it was terrifying. The implausibly long time he was hurtling through the air made it all the scarier. Perhaps the oddest thing was the gentle landing when Donnie caught him. Under what he would understand of the laws of nature, he ought to crush Donnie and kill them both, but despite the speed he built up, by the time he landed in Donnie’s arms, he always felt as though he had fallen just a few inches. It was then that Patrick’s eyes widened – Sandman had said that everyone was asleep, who would catch him?

“Marcus!” he yelled, without really expecting an answer. “Marcus!”  
“Hmm?” Sandman replied suddenly appearing next to him as he fell.

It seemed odd to him that he was falling, trying not to flail his arms and legs as he did so and he looked decidedly uncomfortable as he dropped through the air. In contrast, Sandman, although moving alongside him, appeared to be standing still. Even his coat wasn’t flapping in the wind that somehow moved uncannily slowly around them.

“How are…” Patrick began, momentarily distracted from his initial question before returning abruptly to his main concern. “If everyone’s asleep, who’s going to catch me?”   
“Oh!” Sandman replied his eyes widening in return and a guilty expression crossed his face as he chewed his bottom lip. “I… er… I didn’t think about that.”  
“What!” Patrick panicked; losing concentration as he stared down at the still considerable drop below him, his arms and legs began a desperate thrashing motion in a vain attempt to slow himself down. “Marcus… I…”  
“Oh, I can’t do this!” Sandman laughed suddenly. “I can’t be that mean! Donnie was with me in the Dream World, so he’s awake, he’ll catch you. Really Patrick, did you think I…”  
“You…!” Patrick began furiously as he tried to reset his balance.  
“I’ll see you down there,” Sandman dropped back away from Patrick as he realised that the funny side of his little joke had gone unappreciated.  
“That’s not funny, Marcus!” Patrick yelled as he watched Sandman spiral gently away from him, laughing as he dropped.

*

Finally dropping into Donnie’s outstretched arms, Patrick spied Mr Sandman standing only feet away and struggled to get down from Donnie’s hold. Chuckling lightly, Donnie set Patrick down onto his feet but held his arms keeping him out of reach of Sandman.

“Donnie!” Patrick tried to twist out of his grip to no avail. “Let go of me!”  
“I have a copy of Silas’s itinerary,” Sandman announced drawing a sombre air over the small gathering. 

As Sandman spoke, Patrick stood still, listening intently; it was Donnie’s cue to release him. There would be no reprisals for the light-hearted prank now; it was time to get down to business. Nodding slightly, Patrick looked around, noticing that somehow he had landed indoors – Carousel would never cease to confuse him. Indicating a nearby table and four chairs, Patrick led the way as Donnie and Sandman followed. 

“So, you said that you haven’t spoken to him for eighteen months. Do you have any idea where he is?” Patrick asked hopefully.

Donnie frowned and looked from Patrick to Sandman with a confused expression. The slight pause in the conversation was all Patrick needed to realise that something was wrong.

“You did it again, didn’t you?” Patrick yelled pushing himself out of the seat and staring angrily at Sandman.  
“Patrick,” Donnie placed a comforting hand on Patrick’s arm only to have it pushed away.   
“You got me here under false pretences again didn’t you?”  
“I didn’t abduct you,” Sandman replied avoiding eye contact as he tried to justify his actions.  
“Patrick. Silas is missing. He didn’t lie,” Donnie said, then added: “Did you?”  
“A little,” Sandman replied quietly.  
“A little! What is it with you?” Patrick replied, furious to have been misled again. “Why can’t you just tell me the truth?”  
“After what happened to you last time?” Sandman objected. “You’re not seriously trying to convince me you would have come if I hadn’t played up to your sympathies, are you?”  
“You couldn’t have just tried?” Patrick tried to reason with him.  
“I had to get you here!” Sandman shouted believing the words to be justification enough. “I’m desperate, Patrick, don’t you understand? I couldn’t risk you refusing.”  
“Is Silas really missing?” Patrick snapped trying to establish any facts he could.  
“Yes! And I’m really worried about him.” Sandman turned to look at Donnie, as if for approval. When none was forthcoming, he added: “You understand, don’t you?”

Donnie frowned before shaking his head; he was just as surprised as Patrick.

“You should have told him the truth,” he sighed. “Given him the opportunity to make a choice. He’s entitled to that.”  
“But I needed him to come and I said I didn’t want to abduct him this time,” Sandman continued to miss the point.  
“Marcus,” Donnie sighed gripping both his arms firmly but without hurting. “You have to stop this! You can’t keep manipulating people. Patrick’s our friend; you just can’t treat him like that.”  
“I know, but…”  
“I would have come,” Patrick interrupted, speaking quietly. “Why don’t you believe that?”  
“Well… I… after the way I treated you last time… and not just me… all of us and all of you… I…” Sandman sighed heavily, unable to find the words to explain his fears.

Patrick took a deep breath. It wasn’t as if this situation was new to him; Sandman, much like Pete, could be needy and controlling, not even seeing the damage caused by their selfish, but well-intentioned actions.

“Okay,” Patrick sighed deeply. “Donnie’s right, it has got to stop.”  
“I’m sorry,” Sandman lowered his eyes.  
“Marcus, you’re only sorry until the next time you do it!” Patrick replied exasperated.  
“I just want to find Silas,” he replied, his expression turning bleak and miserable.  
“I would have helped,” Patrick pressed the point. “You should have been honest with me.”  
“But I didn’t know for certain that…”  
“You should have been honest with me anyway!” Patrick interrupted, frustrated by Sandman’s lack of understanding.

Sandman chewed his lower lip as he considered Patrick’s words. Deep down, he knew that Patrick was right and under normal circumstances, he would have been telling the truth as a matter of course. Now he had lied to Patrick twice; both significant lies. Would he ever trust him again? There was only one way to find out how he truly felt.

“I’m sorry,” Sandman sighed as Patrick raised an eyebrow. “And I know you don’t believe me and… I don’t blame you. I don’t know if you’ll believe me now and well, let’s face it, you’ve got no reason to… but I am sorry, really. I’ve lied to you to get my own way and you do deserve better than that. I have no right to ask you to stay after what I’ve done, and if it were just about me, I’d take you straight home. But… Silas is missing and I’m going to beg you for help if I need to, but if you want to go home, I’ll take you now.”

Patrick exhaled deeply. He could see from the expression on Sandman’s face that he was terrified that Patrick might actually say that he wanted to leave, but there was also something that suggested that he genuinely meant what he said. Heading to take a seat at the table, Patrick offered him a small reconciliatory smile.

“Tell me what’s really happened.”  
“Everything I said about Silas is true. And that everyone in The Hills is asleep.” Sandman announced.  
“Then what were you lying about?” Patrick asked suspiciously.  
“Oh, I think I know,” Donnie sighed as he stood up. Somewhere off in the distance, faint cries could be heard.  
“The time difference,” Sandman shrugged. “I made it up. Time goes the same speed here as it does in your world. I just thought… if I could convince you that months would pass here before the others arrived then you’d come straight away.”

Patrick cocked his head as the distant noise got louder and closer.

“And what does that little glass ball really do?” Patrick groaned; deep down, he knew what Sandman was about to say.  
“It’s sort of a homing device,” he replied with a guilty expression firmly fixed on his face. To his left, Andy landed awkwardly in Donnie’s arms. Placing him gently on the floor, Andy’s counterpart prepared himself to catch Pete. Sandman nodded towards Donnie. “It brings them directly to me.”  
“You had me tell them it was a message!”  
“Yeah… sorry. I thought if I could just get everyone here…”  
“That we’d all be stuck here and forced to help you!”  
“I’m not proud of myself,” Sandman complained. “And I am sorry I wasn’t straight with you, but I can’t change what I did.”  
Patrick sighed; he wanted to be angry, but now he was simply resigned to it. Andy, Pete and now Joe, however, seemed to have a different take on the situation.

*

Benzedrine had woken some time ago now and was still shaking. Sitting at the back of his small cell with his legs drawn up to his chest, he stared down at his knees. The only indication that gave away his true emotional state was the occasional droplet of water that dripped from his cheek onto his once pristine yellow pants. From the adjacent cell, Laura eyed him worriedly. She seemed to be the only other prisoner still awake, but she looked stressed and exhausted.

“Silas?” Laura ventured again. It had been the third time she had tried and each time he had ignored her. “Silas, please talk to me.”

She was crouched next to the bars that separated their cells and had, thus far, kept to her own side, but she very much wanted to comfort him. Reaching through the bars, she placed a hand on his knee, now surprisingly damp from only a handful of tears. Pulling away, Benzedrine moved out of reach, still saying nothing.

“Silas, please talk to me,” she begged.  
“I can’t,” he finally whispered.  
“Why?” she asked, confused.  
“I don’t want to say anything I’ll regret later,” he explained simply.

At the words, Laura burst into tears. Great wrenching sobs caused her breathing to falter and shake. Curling away, she fell to the floor, trying to keep her distress as quiet as possible.

“Don’t make me have to deal with your misery too,” Benzedrine finally spoke unsolicited.

Turning back, red puffy eyes, Laura saw that they had that one detail in common. 

“It’s not your fault,” he reminded her.  
“I don’t deserve your kindness,” she muttered, still hiccupping her way through her words.  
“I’ve got nothing else left,” he replied miserably.  
“What about your brother?”  
“My… you haven’t! Have you?” Benzedrine pushed himself quickly to his feet and headed for the bars.  
“H… haven’t what?” Laura asked stumbling back away before scrambling to her feet also.  
“Haven’t told them about him?”  
“No!” she shook her head firmly. “No, not a word, but if they do… I…”  
“Laura, please,” Benzedrine gripped the bars, his eyes pleading. “Don’t give him to them!”  
“I won’t,” she half smiled as she placed a hand tentatively over his. “I promise you, I won’t.”


	4. Dr Benzedrine is Sold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wealthy woman buys Dr Benzedrine as one off of a set. The hunt is now on for Mr Sandman

As all four band members followed Donnie and Sandman into his home, they were surprised by what they saw. On reflection, none of them really knew what to expect, but the simple furnishings and quiet homeliness was some way off what any of them had imagined. Shelving covered one entire wall and every inch was covered with books, many of them well-thumbed. Comfortable armchairs abounded and a large black glass sphere roughly four feet in diameter sat in the centre of the room. In the far corner, a table with six chairs seemed conveniently ready for them.

“I don’t get many visitors,” Sandman said conversationally. “Really, just Donnie, and sometimes Ernest, my Chief Weaver.”  
“You have a lot of chairs for someone who doesn’t get visitors,” Joe commented.

Sandman merely smiled in return and Joe had the very uncomfortable feeling that he was being pitied, but by now, he knew better than to press the matter. Where Sandman was concerned and his crazy world, he probably was being pitied and the last thing he wanted was for everyone to hear about it.

“Wise move,” Sandman whispered into Joe’s ear as he passed by on the way to take a seat. 

Turning sharply, Joe stared wide-eyed at Sandman; had he really just read his mind? Or had he simply guessed his thoughts? No further reaction from the oddly dressed man who looked strangely like an animated version of Pete suggested that it was just a guess. But even as the conclusion formed in Joe’s mind, Sandman smirked at him as if to ask if he was certain.

“Stop it!” Donnie snapped on the way past, without even bothering to look at his mischievous friend.

Joe, still wondering about Sandman’s powers, joined his friends at the table, followed by Donnie and finally Mr Sandman himself.

“Okay, so we got your note, Patrick,” Pete began, “but it didn’t say much. And then we got your message,” he added pointedly, glaring at Sandman, “and that said nothing. But we’re here so…”  
“I’m sorry about my methods,” Sandman sighed, giving the impression either that he wasn’t sorry at all, or he was simply tired of apologising. “And you do have a choice. You can help me or I’ll take you home.” Sandman’s determination faded as blank faces stared back at him. “I promise,” he added sadly.  
“What is it?” Andy asked. “What’s wrong?”

Sandman smiled thinly as he reached into his coat and withdrew a folded sheet of paper. Spreading it out flat on the table, he began to explain.

“After you left, Silas began to make plans for a trip around Carousel. He’d always wanted to travel and… well… circumstances… you know what happened. Anyway, now it’s all sorted, he decided to go. We’d occasionally speak by Avstandball…”  
“By what?” Joe’s brow furrowed.  
“Avstandball,” Sandman mirrored Joe’s expression as he turned briefly while pointing to the large glass sphere in the centre of the room. “You have something similar,” he sighed deeply as he thought about it. “Primitive, but similar.”  
“Perhaps you could keep the comments to a minimum and just tell us what you’re talking about?” Pete leaned forward onto his elbows.  
“We can talk wherever he is, but we can see each other,” Sandman explained, giving in to Pete’s contained yet continued anger.  
“Oh, like a videophone,” Patrick suggested.  
“Yeah, but…”  
“Don’t.”

Sandman closed his eyes, briefly. Pete was really angry with him. It seemed as though the others had forgiven him, or, at least were trying to. Pete, on the other hand, had not. Perhaps he should take a more direct approach?

“Pete, Silas is missing and I’m really worried about him. The last time we spoke he had a headache!”

Pete rested his chin on the back of his hand and waited patiently for a few moments for Sandman to explain the connection between his last two sentences. Eventually, when nothing was forthcoming, he realised that this must be one of those ‘you’d know if you were from Carousel’ moments and pressed for an explanation.

“What are you talking about?”  
“He had a headache, Pete!”  
“Marcus, that’s the bit we don’t understand,” Patrick tried to explain. “What’s the significance of that?”  
“Oh! I’m sorry!” Sandman cried as he finally realised that they wouldn’t know. “Benzedrines and Sandmen don’t get headaches… well… not unless someone else has caused them.”  
“What do you mean?” Andy asked.  
“Someone was in his mind, prying, a Reader he thought, but…” Sandman put his hand to his mouth as his expression turned to one of worry and concern, possibly even fear. “Or maybe it was a Locator? It would explain his disappearance… don’t you see?”  
“What’s a Locator?” Patrick asked growing ever puzzled by Sandman’s refusal to explain anything.  
“And a Reader,” Joe added.  
“A Locator is someone who can find things or people. Difeerent Locators have different powers, but what they can all do is find other people with powers. Look!” Sandman pointed to the itinerary. “He’s gone to Es Galleons. It’s a seaport, as you probably gather by the name, but it’s also a well-known area for slave trading. Some slavers specialise in those with special powers… like us. Now do you see why I’m worried?”  
“Did he not think it was risky to go somewhere like that?” Patrick gasped.  
“Well, you know, with hindsight, yeah!” Sandman rose and stalked agitatedly around the room. “Clearly, if we were doing the itinerary now, we’d skip it, but… please will you help me find him?”  
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but won’t they be long gone from there by now?” Pete asked as tactfully as he could.  
“I don’t think so,” Sandman replied sombrely. “I got a headache today. I think they want me to come for him.”  
“They want both of you?” Patrick replied with concern.  
“You didn’t tell me that!” Donnie pulled his friend’s arm so that he turned to face him. “It’s too dangerous!”  
“Donnie, they’ve got Silas, I know they have and I’ll do whatever it takes to get him back.”  
“But you don’t even know who they are! They have the advantage. They’ve got a Locator who knows exactly where you are! You can’t go!”  
Sandman smiled his appreciation of his friend’s loyalty and concern. “You know I am, Donnie. Will you help me?”  
Donnie sighed as his shoulders sagged. “Of course I will! Anything for you or Silas, you know that.”

A brief hug between the two Carousellians sealed their commitment to rescue Benzedrine but even before Sandman had turned back to face the band, Pete was speaking.

“Count me in too.”  
“And me,” Andy added.  
“You know I’m in,” Patrick confirmed.  
“Well,” Joe smiled, “that’s all of us then.”

*

Benzedrine sat back, leaning against the back wall of the cell, his arms folded across his knees. The gentle rocking motion of the ship had helped everyone, even Laura to get some rest. He, of course, did not sleep and he was bored. It wasn’t that he was unable to sleep, he could, in a manner of speaking. It wasn’t like a regular sleep filled with dreams from which he would wake refreshed and ready to take on the day. No, when either a Benzedrine or a Sandman slept it was more of a total body shut down; they would merely choose to be unconscious. There was no need or benefit to be gained from sleeping and, as a result, no enjoyment. He couldn’t remember the last time he had willingly slept. There was always something interesting going on, and plenty of work to do in The Hills. Sleep was something he would only do if very bored or ill – the likelihood of either being remote. But there was a new feeling creeping into his very being. He had been unhappy before, certainly, but unhappiness didn’t come close to expressing how he was feeling right now. Lowering his head onto his knees, he thought about what was likely to happen to him and in particular, about the chances of seeing his family or home again. They were slim, very slim. He couldn’t think about it any longer, not without welling up – it was time to sleep.

 

“Get up!”

The harsh yell, followed by the sting of what turned out to be something akin to a riding crop swung sharply against the back of his right thigh caused Benzedrine’s eyes to fly open. Quickly sitting up, fully alert and awake, he scrambled backwards, holding his leg and taking in his surroundings. Inside the cell, the ship's doctor stood menacingly over him, flanked by two strong looking men. Beyond the cell, a blond man with a tanned complexion wearing an expensive suit and an elegantly dressed woman who looked both beautiful and sophisticated. It didn’t take too much for Benzedrine to realise that the couple were potential buyers. But something seemed wrong. Somehow the couple didn’t seem to fit together.

“So,” the woman’s soft velvety voice almost seemed to carry and spread over the hot humid air of the ship’s hold. “This is a Benzedrine?”  
“Yes, my lady,” Maxwell replied with a brief nod to the two men.

Dragged to his feet, Benzedrine was pulled over to the bars. At a loss to find a reaction to his situation in amongst his total confusion and misery, Benzedrine merely stared hopelessly at the woman now standing just inside the cage. Receiving a sudden unexpected sharp slap and an angry frown from the woman, Benzedrine’s eyes flew open in surprise.

“Lower your eyes!” the smartly dressed man ordered. “Don’t you have any respect?”

Turning to glare at the man, who he now realised was some sort of personal assistant, Benzedrine opened his mouth to reply. As he did he felt a sharp tug as a long strip of cloth, heavily knotted in the centre was pulled deep into his mouth and, despite his best efforts to struggle against it, tied tightly at the nape of his neck. Screaming his frustration, the cry emerged muffled and incoherent. Forced down onto his knees, Benzedrine was once more manacled and held firmly.

“He’s a feisty little thing, isn’t he?” The woman commented with an almost approving smile.  
“No, my lady, he’s not feisty,” her assistant corrected politely, “he’s completely unbroken! I presume you’ll be reducing the cost accordingly?” he added, directing his final comment to the doctor.  
“Oh, come now, Henry,” she laughed musically. “Isn’t that part of the fun? After all, we are getting the pair.”

At the word, Benzedrine looked up in horror; did she mean what he thought she meant?

“How often do you get the chance to own a Benzedrine and a Sandman? And from the same stock!”

Benzedrine screamed beneath the gag and struggled ineffectually in the grip of the two men holding him. Turning a furious glare toward Laura, his repeated words ‘You told them!’ were just discernable.  
"No! Silas... I..."

Laura screamed as another guard swiped the back of his hand across her face, watching with satisfaction as she dropped to the floor, silently clutching her cheek.

"I sincerely hope you don't intend to damage our goods in any way!" the woman snapped.  
"No, no of course not!" Doctor Maxwell hastened to agree.  
"So, he’s called Silas? That’s a pretty name.  Tell me more about him," the woman insisted.  
"He's the Benzedrine for The Hills district. If you wanted to check that, it's easy enough, they'll still be asleep," he laughed at the idea. "His full name is Silas Paul Benzedrine and..."

Benzedrine's eyes widened as he turned to stare at Martha. Struggling violently in the grip of the guards, he finally realised who had really given his information to the crew. He had noticed that she had been taken on deck while everyone else had slept, but thought little of it. Now he knew exactly what she had done and gag or not, somehow he would make his fellow prisoners aware.

“Can’t you subdue him?” Henry, the assistant, asked harshly.

Gripping Benzedrine’s neck roughly where the needle was forced in, Maxwell squeezed hard. The pain wasn’t excruciating, as it had been earlier when he tried to open the door, but an overwhelming dizziness swept over him and Benzedrine crumpled in the four handed grip. Finally released, he sank to the floor, unmoving.

“So?” Maxwell began. “Are you interested?  
“We want something off the price if we’re going to have to break him.”

Maxwell pouted thoughtfully as he considered the request. He knew he had a once in a lifetime opportunity on offer and simply didn’t see the need to negotiate.

“You have my price, you take it or you leave it,” he finally replied.  
“You must be…!” Henry began only to be interrupted by a hand on his chest.  
"Very well, we'll take the Benzedrine but only as a pair with the Sandman. We'll take him now and you can bring the Sandman later. Whatever offers you get we can raise it. The pair, Maxwell. Only the pair... Understand?"  
“Of course,” he smiled ingratiatingly. “Let’s draw up the bill of sale and… I’ll have him prepared.”  
“He was free to move in the cell. You put a governor on him?” she asked almost as an afterthought.  
“Yes, of course.”  
“I want it removed,” she insisted.  
“I can’t, we use a Dioxodon variant, but without supplements, it will disperse.”  
“How long?”  
“It differs across people,” Maxwell shrugged.  
“Then how will we know when he can use powers again?” she frowned.  
“When it stops hurting him,” Maxwell almost chuckled.  
“This is unacceptable!”  
“Look, do you want the Benzedrine or not? I got a queue of people lined up if you’re not interested…”  
Raising her hands in a conciliatory gesture the woman spoke again. “Get him ready. When you get the Sandman, do not inject him. Understand? I want him functional.”  
“We have some papers to sign.”

Maxwell nodded and led the way back to the deck while another set of manacles were fixed around Benzedrine’s ankles.


	5. And Now We Have The Pair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys are still looking for Dr Benzedrine, unaware that the slavers are looking for Mr Sandman.

He wasn’t fully awake before his hand was moving to the aching area at the base of his skull. Whatever the doctor had done to him, it had been both painful and effective. Scouring his memory, he finally recalled, with a groan, what had been happening when he had lost consciousness. He barely dared open his eyes for fear of what he might see, but he had to get it over with.

“Great!” he muttered unhappily as he looked up. “Where am I, now?”

Pushing himself up, Silas remained seated on the floor, and took a deep breath as he looked over his new accommodation. The room was roughly ten feet square and empty to the point of sterile. The plain white bare walls reflected the overly-bright lighting that almost hurt his newly opened eyes. Part of one wall, however, was quite different. A sliding barred gate with electric locking looked sturdy enough. Even if he had his powers intact, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to override an electrical lock. He had simply never found himself in a situation where he needed to try.

Finally pushing himself unsteadily to his feet, he waited silently. There didn’t seem to be any point in shouting. Help would not be forthcoming; that had been made perfectly clear to him. Slavers had sold him and nobody bought someone just to let them go. What made it worse was that they were insisting upon, as the woman had put it, having the pair. His face displayed the worry he felt as he considered the possibility that they knew where to find Marcus. With everyone asleep, he would be alone, unsuspecting; he would be easy prey.

Edging forward to the bars, Silas noticed that the cell took up almost one half of the room, the remainder consisting of a large desk, a chair and several books. It seemed an odd array of furnishings for a cell and observation area. 

“Hey!” he cried loudly, hardly expecting anyone to come. Curling his fingers slowly around the bars, he gave a sigh at the sheer futility of shouting. 

“For a Benzedrine, you sure manage to sleep for long enough.”

The voice seemed to come from nowhere. It was only when Silas heard the footsteps approaching from the right that he realised the room was in fact ‘L’ shaped. Straining, despite the bars, to see who was there, Silas’ efforts were soon rewarded as Henry, the personal assistant to the woman from the ship, rounded the corner and eyed him coolly.

“Where am I?” Silas asked in a tone that suggest a mixture of fear and misery.  
“In the residence of Lady Constance Allandra,” the man answered, to Silas’ surprise.  
“That doesn’t tell me much,” Silas replied thinking of his next question.  
“It tells you what you asked,” Henry retorted. “I suspect what you really want to know is what you’re doing here.”  
“I know they thought they had the right to sell me and she thinks she has the right to buy me!” Silas snapped finally giving in to his anger. “I’m a man, I’m like you, I have a life, a job, friends, I…”  
“Not any more,” Henry shook his head. “You are the property of Lady Constance now, I suggest you get used to it.”  
“I don’t belong to anyone!” Silas slammed his palm against one of the bars. “Let me go! You’ve got no right to do this to me.”  
“That’s correct, but we’ve done it anyway,” Henry replied flatly. “You and soon your brother will be imprisoned here.”  
“Collectors items?” Silas asked miserably.  
“Oh, no,” Henry laughed. “Nothing so sedate for you.”  
“Then what?” Silas asked, puzzled by the response.  
“You two will have work to do as soon as your powers return. The Sandman putting people to sleep and you waking them up. Nothing demanding, just your normal function.”  
“Who?” Silas asked nervously, feeling there must be a catch.  
“Anyone My Lady feels like,” Henry grinned. “How do you think she amassed her fortune? You will just make things easier.”  
“You mean she’s a thief? She wants us to put her victims to sleep and wake them after she’s robbed them?”  
“You are quite intelligent, aren’t you?” Henry mocked him. “Let’s hope that intelligence steers you toward doing exactly as you’re told.”  
“I’m not helping anyone steal anything!”  
“Oh, but you will if your brother’s life depends on it, I’m sure,” Henry’s grin faded into a harsh glare. “And he will do anything to protect you, I’m certain. Do you realise what a unique opportunity it is to have a Benzedrine and a Sandman who can be so easily threatened? Your parents couldn’t have been thinking straight when they gave you your powers. Or maybe they knew this would happen one day? Perhaps they’re glad to be rid of you?” 

Reaching through the bars, Silas made a grab for the man who seemed to delight in distressing him. Almost as if he had goaded him to the point that he expected the attack, Henry pushed Silas’ outstretched arm to the right, bending it back on itself.

Screaming in pain as his shoulder almost dislocated, Silas slumped against the bars as his arm was held in the painful position.

“Use your powers,” Henry insisted.  
“No,” Silas replied quietly, sensing that he was still unable to without causing the nerves in his brain to contract.  
“Push me away, go on!”  
“No!”   
“Do it!” Henry snapped as he forced Silas’ arm further back. 

Gasping in agony as his knees buckled, Silas found himself giving in to the man’s demand more out of automatic self-preservation than conscious choice. His fingertips tingled as he felt what should have been a surge of power but was blocked before it could be released. The excruciating pain as the nerves were constricted caused him to fall backwards, his arm finally released. Crumpling to the floor, Silas heard the man’s laughter ringing in his ears shortly before the blackness once more slipped over his eyes.

*

“Do you have any idea where Silas will be?” Patrick asked as they all sat around the large table in Sandman’s home.  
Sandman nodded and then shrugged. “I worked it out from the point everyone stopped waking up, he’ll be in one of two places. It’s unfortunate timing, he’s either just arrived at Es Galleons or was just about to leave Dia Engos when he went missing.”  
“So, we have to split up?” Patrick asked with a nod to show he agreed it was the best option open to them.  
“It would be quicker,” Sandman agreed grateful for the suggestion.  
“Well… hang on,” Joe frowned. “How far away are these places? I mean, how will we get there?”

Sandman turned a nervous glance toward Joe before he and Donnie exchanged brief shrugs. Turning back to face the band, Sandman chewed his lip.

“No!” Pete was the first to react. “We’re not being thrown around this freaky world by one of your weird gadgets!”  
“But, Pete!” Sandman protested. “It’s the way. It would take days to travel that far otherwise. Please, Pete?”

Sandman’s needy, wheedling tone mirrored his own whenever he tried to cajole Patrick into doing something against his better judgement. Only then did Pete realise just how effective a sound it was – not just with him, but all of them. Many pairs of eyes fell on Pete and he felt intimidated and pressured to give in. Only one pair of eyes weren’t on him – Patrick’s. No, Patrick was enjoying having Pete’s own techniques used against him and he was trying desperately hard not to laugh as a result.

“Patrick?” Pete pouted, looking for support.  
“Hmm?” Patrick still managed somehow to keep his laughter contained.  
“I guess I’m alone in this, then?” Pete sighed, his shoulders dropping in defeat. “All right, but keep the falling to a minimum! I hate that!”  
“I’ll catch you!” Donnie grinned. “I always do.”

Pete merely glared in response; it wasn’t the catching it wasn’t even the falling that bothered him. He was used to a world he understood, could, to some extent, control and be certain of. This world threw him into the deep end with no lifebelt and he found it very disconcerting.

“Okay, that’s settled then,” Sandman announced enthusiastically. “Donnie, you, Pete, Andy and Joe go to Dia Engos and Patrick and I will go to Es Galleons. We’ll keep in touch by Avstandball. Ready?”

*

Laura sat at the back of the cell, her knees drawn up to her chest. In her hands she reverently stroked the feather from Silas’ hat, still left behind in the cell. Her cheeks were stained with tears, but her ability to cry had long since ceased. It was as if she had cried them all and there was nothing left but a deep sorrow.

“You liked him, didn’t you?” the older man spoke surprisingly gently.  
“He didn’t hate me,” she nodded. “He understood that I love my brother.”  
“Yeah,” the man sighed. “About that… I’m sorry. All this time, blaming you. I just wanted someone to blame and you were there. It was easy to lay everything at your door, but you’re a prisoner here too.”  
“Thanks, Francis,” Laura smiled weakly. “Thanks.”  
“Yeah, right!” Martha snapped as she approached the bars.

She had seen Benzedrine react when the information about him and Sandman had been given. She knew that he had realised that she had provided them with all they needed to know, not Laura. But it was easy now to shift the blame. Benzedrine had been rendered unconscious before he could make an accusation against her and now it was time to make everyone believe that Laura had betrayed him. She knew she had to tread carefully though; Laura’s obvious heartbroken display was gaining her sympathy.

“You feel sorry for her now? She might claim to like the Benzedrine, but she still brought him here, she still sold out his brother to them too!”  
“No! I didn’t…”  
“You’re the only Locator here! They’re so sure they’re going to get the Sandman they’re selling them as a pair! Who else in here knows where to find him?” Martha argued.  
“You read him, you knew about his brother too,” the Twins commented.  
“You didn’t just read him, either! You practically crushed his mind. A little trick to stop him resisting the injection, perhaps?” Francis questioned. “You did the same thing with me, just before I was injected. But you don’t do it to everyone.”  
“This is ridiculous!” Martha’s voice began to shake. “I haven’t done…”

Suddenly, in a rage, Laura was on her feet and rushing to the bars.

“I just located him!” she screamed. “You’re in his head! You’re reading his thoughts!”  
“You said you couldn’t… you said…” Martha stammered.  
“Of course I can! I just refused to. It’s you! You’re leading them to the Sandman!”  
“You have no reason to help them!” the Twins spoke together. “Laura’s protecting her brother, but you’re doing this by choice!”  
“Protecting her brother! Ha! She really got you all with that one, didn’t she?” Martha snapped. “He’s the captain of this damn ship! He’s the slaver! Him and his doctor friend, I’ve spoken to them!”  
“No!” Laura screamed. “You’re lying! You’re lying! He wouldn’t do that to me!”  
“He hates you! He thinks you’re a freak, he thinks we’re all freaks! But this opportunity is going to get me out of here and I’m happy to sacrifice your little boyfriend and his brother for my freedom. He’s already on his way and when he gets to Es Galleons, I’m going to take them straight to him and then I’m free.”

Laura broke down; the revelation was too much for her. Sinking to her knees, she crying uncontrollably, her shoulders shuddering as the wrenching sobs shook her to the core.

“You evil bitch!” Francis growled.  
“Maybe, but you’d do the same, if you could,” Martha replied with confidence bordering on arrogance.  
“No,” Francis shook his head, his tone suddenly menacing. “I’d do this.”

The bolt of energy raced out of him before the crushing pain in his head could stop it. Collapsing to the floor, the older man heard the gasp from his cellmates only moments before he hit the floor.

Above them the hatch was ripped back and even the clatter of feet on the stairs wasn’t enough to attract either Laura or the Twins attention as they stared open-mouthed at Martha’s cell.

“What happened?” one of the crew demanded. “Where is she?”  
“There,” the Twins pointed to a small covering of ash forming a trail from where Martha had been standing and stretching backwards towards the cell wall.

Another crew member tapped the first man’s arm with the back of his hand and nodded over towards Francis, lying deeply unconscious on the floor of his cell.

“Well,” Maxwell, the doctor, laughed as he walked slowly down the steps. “I guess you found out that Martha betrayed your little friend.”  
“That wasn’t all we found out,” Laura snapped between hiccups. “I know Thomas is the captain, the one who brought us all here.”  
“Do you now?” he growled angrily. “And how does that change anything?”  
“You can’t make me help you any more. I won’t help you find the Sandman and she can’t now!”  
“Oh, but you will help me,” Maxwell smirked. “If I don’t sell the pair to Lady Constance I get the Benzedrine back and if I get him back, I’m going to slit his throat right in front of you. Are you prepared for that?”

The look of horror on Laura’s face said it all and Maxwell couldn’t help but chuckle at the response.

“No, I didn’t think so. Now, where is he?”

Laura merely stared in response. All this time she believed her brother to be their prisoner and the shock of finding out that the exact opposite was true left her dazed. Added to that, the threat against the man she had grown to care a great deal for had left her feeling drained and miserable.

“Where is he?” he demanded.

With no choice, Laura whispered her reply.

“He’s just arrived in Es Galleons.”  
“Where?”  
Laura lowered her head. “The market.”  
“What’s he wearing?”  
“A black coat and boots, he… he’s quite unusually dressed.”  
“There, you see, now your Benzedrine will live. Wasn’t that easy?”

Laura slumped back against the bars and sank to the floor once more. Sealing the Sandman’s fate to save Silas wasn’t anything to be happy about.

*

“Are you okay?” Marcus asked, holding Patrick steady as he stared at the singer’s rolling eyes.  
“Not quite,” Patrick slurred as he tried to keep both his balance and the contents of his stomach.  
“I’m sorry about that,” Marcus continued. “Donnie’s a much better catcher than I am.”  
“He’s the world’s best,” Patrick replied, trying for a smile to back up his comment but merely offering the worried Sandman a sickly grimace.  
“Yeah,” Marcus nodded. “I need more lessons… clearly. I can do it, but… well, let’s face it, only just.”  
“You caught me,” Patrick lowered his head as the world continued to spin. “It wasn’t perfect, but I… I’ll be okay in little while… I just need to sit still for a minute.”  
“Okay,” Marcus smiled. “I’ll get a map, we’ll need to find our way around. Wait there, okay?”  
“I’m not going anywhere!” Patrick replied, still recovering from the unpleasant landing.

Sandman was barely out of sight when Patrick heard a voice next to him. Looking up, finally able to see without the horrible spinning sensation, Patrick became aware that he was sitting in what seemed to be a particularly seedy and squalid marketplace. He expected to see someone trying to sell him something of questionable value for an inflated price, but instead he saw a man standing smiling down at him.

“You’re looking for a Benzedrine?” he asked simply not losing the smile for a moment.  
“Y… yeah! How did you know?” Patrick gasped in surprise.   
“Because it’s very easy to spot twins,” the man replied as his stare hardened.  
“What? No!” Patrick jumped up only to realise that he was surrounded.

It took only one blow to his head to have him falling at their feet unconscious. They knew exactly where to hit and how hard. Nobody in the marketplace reacted. The slavers were well known in the area and nobody challenged them, ever.

“And now we have the pair,” Maxwell grinned to himself as his accomplices bundled Patrick into a waiting cart.


	6. Patrick Wakes on the Slave Ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Patrick pretend to be a Sandman?

Marcus looked up from the map he carried and instantly his face sported a puzzled frown. The upturned horse trough that Patrick had been perched upon was without an occupant. Looking around, Marcus’ first assumption was that Patrick had felt ill and moved somewhere quiet to be sick, or perhaps he had passed out? Moving closer, Marcus picked up speed as he realised that Patrick was nowhere in sight.

“Patrick!” Marcus called urgently. “Patrick!”

Arriving at the horse trough, Marcus’ heart sank. Bending his knees, he retrieved Patrick’s black peaked cap from the floor and dusted it off. Turning, with the cap still clutched tightly in his hands, Marcus’ eyes widened as he noticed a stallkeeper adjusting a display outside the entrance to his covered market stall of herbs and remedies.

“Hey!” Marcus cried as he ran over. “My friend was sitting over there,” he explained pointing in the direction of the trough. “Did you see what happened to him?”

The stallkeeper merely turned deep glower in Marcus’ direction before resuming adjusting his display.

“Hey!” Marcus repeated as he reached him. 

Placing a hand on the man’s arm received a wholly different response. Shoving Marcus’ hand away, the man turned with an aggressive stance.

“I didn’t see anything, now get out of here!” the man yelled.  
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what happened!” Marcus snapped back.  
“I told you! I didn’t see anything!”

Marcus nodded as if he suddenly understood the rules of a new game.

“Okay, you didn’t see anything. But… I do need a… a stick of Worm Root. Perhaps we could go inside?”

Marcus smiled faintly as the man briefly nodded before jerking his head slightly to indicate that Marcus should enter first. Inside the stall Marcus found his breath taken away by the sights and smells. Nestled in amongst great swathes of multicoloured decorative silks were six crude shelves filled with apothecary jars of all sizes, each one labelled carefully and arranged roughly in alphabetical order. Incense burned, leaving the air hanging with the heady scents of jasmine and sandalwood. Small bottles, each containing only a bright glowing light in a variety of colours, stood on the top shelf furthest from reach. Near the corner stood a barrel containing a noxious dark yellow semi-viscous fluid and within it slithered… something. Turning to face the stallkeeper, Marcus was about to reach into his pocket for a suitable bribe only to find the man blocking the entrance and wielding a large wooden bat menacingly in his hands.

“A few things you should know about Es Galleons,” the man began, “If a slaver wants someone, you don’t see anything, understand?”  
“Yeah,” Marcus replied cautiously. “What else?”  
“Ah, well,” he tapped the bat against his free hand. “I would have to say that your boots and coat look expensive.”  
“They were,” Marcus agreed with an expression that suggested distaste for where the conversation was leading. “You’re not getting them, if that’s what you think.”

The man stepped forward a couple of paces. Only now did Marcus realise just how tall and broad he was, filling the exit and denying Marcus an escape route.

“I doubt you’ll be needing them after my Lappa Snake’s finished with you,” the man smirked as he nodded in the direction of the barrel. “He hasn’t eaten anyone for a few days, so he’s hungry.”  
“Anything else?” Marcus asked with amused indifference; a tone that only served to irritate the stallkeeper further.  
“Yeah,” he snapped. “No one will miss a stranger.”  
“Yes, all very intimidating, now back to my question.”

Losing his temper with Marcus’ flippant response, the man moved swiftly forward with his bat raised. He managed barely a few feet before he was dropping to the floor, already snoring heavily as he landed.

“Now then,” Marcus lowered his right hand and kicked the man over onto his back. “You’re going to dream about what happened to my friend and you’re going to tell me everything you saw.”

Marcus frowned deeply as the man, talking in his sleep, recounted what he had witnessed.

“Power Slavers? Oh, Silas! And they must think Patrick is me… but if they have a Locator helping them…”

Marcus gave the last detail a few moments thought and, placing his hand to his head, he realised that it had been some time since he had last felt the headache caused by Martha tuning into his thoughts.

“Okay, so you took the wrong guy,” Marcus paused. “Damn it! I could survive whatever you’re going to do… I’m not so sure about Patrick. He looks so much like Silas, they’ll never believe he’s not his twin brother! If you please, Mr Crab,” Marcus shouted to the air, “I need some luck! But first…”

Marcus headed to the rear of the stall and carefully selected some herbs, roots and a potion bottle, tucking them neatly away in his coat pocket. Looking back down at the man still lying sleeping in the floor, Marcus scowled before pushing over the barrel, releasing the Lappa Snake and soaking the floor in the yellow fluid, which oozed rather than flowed. As the snake headed swiftly towards its prey of the still sleeping man, Marcus sneered before pushing his way through the tarpaulin at the rear of the stall.

“Well, you did say it was hungry.”

*

“So, I guess we start by finding the hotel he stayed in?” Joe suggested Donnie caught Andy.  
“I don’t understand,” Pete began as he straightened his clothes after the fall. “Why there are four of us here and only Sandman and Patrick in the other place,” Pete frowned.  
“You know, you could call him Marcus,” Donnie sighed. “It is his name.”  
“So’s Sandman… isn’t it?” Pete asked, confident at first then sounding a little uncertain.  
“He is a Sandman. People who don’t know him may refer to him as Mr Sandman or within the districts he covers, The Sandman. But no one just calls him Sandman. You don’t call me Catcher, do you? And he doesn’t call you Wentz.”  
“I… I didn’t realise,” Pete’s brow creased as he realised he’d caused offense. “I’m sorry. Why did Marcus and Patrick go to…”  
“Es Galleons,” Donnie prompted with a cheerful smile.   
“Why did they go to Es Galleons but the four of us came here?”  
“Es Galleons is a fishing and market town, barely one street. Dia Engos is much bigger,” Donnie explained.  
“Why would he even go to Es Galleons if there’s nothing to see or do there?” Andy asked with an expression of curiosity.  
“Well, they do make the best Vegetable Chilli anywhere,” Donnie smiled wistfully as if remembering the flavour. “They have it exported to most districts, but I hear it’s even better if you have it there, you know, freshly made, not cooled down.”  
“You mean warmed up?” asked Andy.  
“Trust me, I mean cooled down,” Donnie’s expression was one of absolute seriousness. “The only other reason to go there is to get a boat to somewhere else. It’s a port and the next place on his list was the Ramen Coast.”  
“Ramen?” Pete asked with a smirk.  
“Yeah,” Donnie nodded. “Do you know it?”  
“The name, I know the name,” Pete smiled in return.  
“Anyway,” Donnie suddenly sounded less conversational. “Joe’s suggestion was a good one, but first we need to find an Avstandball and see if we have any messages from Marcus.”

*

“So,” Francis sighed as he moved forward to the bars of his cell, having recovered from using his powers to desiccate Martha. “They got the Sandman anyway.”  
“No,” Laura replied quietly as she pushed a rolled up cloth through the bars and under Patrick’s head as a makeshift pillow. “He may look like Silas, but I don’t know who this is. He has no powers, I know that much.”  
“No powers at all?” asked the Twins.  
“None,” Laura gently stroked Patrick’s hair.  
“If they give him an injection, it’ll kill him, but they’ll kill him anyway when they find out he’s not a Sandman,” Francis warned.

*

“Well, I thought it possible, but I really didn’t expect this,” Donnie smiled cheerfully.  
“Expect what?” Pete asked, following closely behind.   
“Well, I heard that they’d finished installing the new range of Avstandballs, but I wasn’t holding out any hope for it. I’ve never used one of these before,” he explained.  
“Does that mean you don’t know how to?” asked Joe with some concern.  
“Oh, no!” Donnie chuckled. “The SA800’s are supposed to be very easy to use. I’m just really excited about it!”

Pete raised an eyebrow at Donnie’s perceived ‘geekiness’ but when they all entered the room containing the Avstandballs, both of Pete’s eyebrows raised and his jaw dropped. The room was huge, roughly seventy feet by twenty feet. Down the centre of the large white room were four giant smoky-black glass spheres, each ten feet in diameter all perched on equally giant platforms. They appeared, to all intent and purpose, like enormous crystal balls, but constructed of dark glass. Now they appreciated why Donnie was so excited. Having expected to see something like the tabletop version owned by Marcus, the sheer size of them alone was overwhelming.

“Why are they so big?” Andy asked, staring up, taking in the sheer magnitude of the device.

Donnie suppressed a laugh, realising that they couldn’t possibly know the answer.

“So you can go inside,” he replied, his face glowing with eager anticipation.  
“Inside!” Joe replied in astonishment – it seemed a little too weird.  
Donnie nodded a little anxiously. “Look, I’m sorry, I’ll have to explain how it works later. This is the time we agreed to speak and I don’t want to miss the contact.”  
“Sure,” Andy nodded, shaking his head lightly at Pete who looked as though he might ask another question.

As Donnie climbed the steps to the giant Avstandball a previously unseen door in the glass clicked forward an inch and then slid gracefully aside. As Donnie stepped inside, the three men watched as the door closed behind him. 

“So,” Pete tried to summarise, “basically, he’s just walked inside a giant phone?”  
“Pretty much,” Andy agreed with a slow nod of his head.

Inside, Donnie pressed a few buttons on a keypad, entering a pre-arranged code agreed between him and Marcus. At first nothing happened, but he waited patiently; all it meant was that Marcus wasn’t quite ready. After barely two minutes had passed, an area on the floor only three feet away began to glow and within moments a holographic image of Marcus appeared standing opposite Donnie. In Marcus’ Avstandball, a hologram of Donnie had also appeared.

“Marcus,” Donnie called cheerfully. “You and Patrick arrived safely?”

Marcus flapped his arms up in distress.

“Donnie, they’re here! Silas is here somewhere and they came looking for me…”  
“Are you okay?” Donnie cut in.  
“I am, but they took Patrick, they probably think he’s me…”  
“He looks nothing like you… oh!” Donnie suddenly understood. “They think you and Silas are twins?”  
Marcus nodded bleakly. “Can you get over here straight away?” 

Donnie frowned; Marcus was clearly fretting and deeply concerned about Patrick.

“Of course, Marcus, we’ll leave straight away.”  
“Donnie, when you get here, be careful, it’s a really dangerous place. I’ve already had to deal with a guy who wanted to feed me to his Lappa Snake.”  
“A Lappa Snake! I thought they were extinct!”  
“Well, they’re alive and hungry in this part of the world,” Marcus shrugged.  
“Okay, I’ll tell the guys to be careful,” Donnie nodded.  
“Tell Pete more than once, he’s likely to be… well… a little reckless.”

Donnie smiled at the concern in Marcus’ tone; they had all grown to care very much for their Normal Worlder counterparts.

“Don’t worry, Marcus, I’ll make sure he knows. Now, let’s make the arrangements.”

*

Patrick opened his eyes slowly, grateful for the dim light that kept his headache to a dull throb. Groaning softly, he found it hard to coordinate himself at first, or at least that’s what he thought. 

“Wha…” he managed weakly as he felt a cool damp cloth pressed lightly against his forehead.  
“Shh,” Laura replied softly, “you’ve been hurt, you need to rest.”

Slowly gathering his wits, Patrick tried to sit up, only now realising the cause of his coordination problems.

“Where am I?” he asked pulling weakly on the manacles holding his hands behind him and noticing now that his ankles were similarly secured.  
“You’re on a slave ship,” Laura explained as she repositioned the cloth onto Patrick’s cheek. “They think you’re Silas’ brother, they think you’re a Sandman.”

Pulling back out of reach, Patrick frowned deeply as he took in his surroundings. As he looked around he saw the concerned faces of Francis and the Twins staring at him from their own cells.

“How do you know I’m not if they think I am?”

Laura hung her head, not wanting to have to admit to yet another person that she was the reason they were all there. She knew from experience that one of the others would fill him in and this was no exception, but this time it was different.

“Laura here’s a Locator,” Francis began. “She’s a prisoner, like us but she’s been forced to help the slavers find people.”  
“No more,” she shook her head angrily.   
“But you helped them find me, or well, Silas’ brother but they got me instead. He told me, he felt pain from someone in his head,” Patrick looked doubtful as he pushed himself up into a sitting position.  
“No, that was Martha, not me, I refused. I won’t help them any more,” Laura insisted. “Not since I found out that my brother, the guy I was trying to save from them, is the guy doing all this.”

Patrick’s mouth fell open at the revelation; he thought about how betrayed and hurt she must feel, not to mention foolish. As he stared, she turned away to hide her pained expression.

“We… I have friends with me… we came looking for Silas. They’ll be looking for me now too,” Patrick explained. “And when they do…”  
“They won’t,” Laura complained. “How will they find you here?”  
“Perhaps if they try to buy me?” Patrick suggested.  
“You’re already sold,” Laura replied sadly. “A lady bought you and… well, she bought The Sandman and Silas as a pair.”  
“Do you know where he is?” Patrick asked. “Silas, I mean?”  
“I can locate him, yes, but how will that help?”  
“Do your powers work in reverse?” he pressed.  
“What do you mean?” Laura asked, unsure where Patrick was leading.  
“Can you put the location into someone else’s mind?”  
“Oh!” Laura paused to think about it. “I think so, but not The Sandman, there’ll be too much power to block me. He won’t understand what I’m trying to do.”  
“How about someone who has no powers? Can you place a thought in their mind?”  
“I could, but I’d need something that belonged to them to locate them.”  
Patrick nodded. “Can you reach into my pocket? There’s a sheet of paper in there.”

Laura did as he asked and, having pulled the paper from his pocket, unfolded it.

“What’s this?” she asked as she read the words, almost swaying to the rhythm they formed in her mind.  
“They’re lyrics,” Patrick explained. “My friend wrote them. He’s here, can you tell him where Silas and I are?”  
“I’ll need a few minutes,” Laura replied, quickly folding and stuffing the note inside her shirt as the hatch opened. “You have to pretend to be The Sandman,” she whispered urgently. “Or they’ll kill you.”  
“What! There’s no way I can fake that!” Patrick whispered back, wide-eyed and terrified as Maxwell descended the stairs.


	7. Mr Crab will help!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys reunite and Marcus calls on Mr Crab for help. Plain sailing from here, surely?

Patrick looked up nervously, at first terrified that they would ask him to prove that he was indeed a Sandman. Inwardly, he was grateful to have seen enough of Marcus using his powers to know that he always needed the use of his hands. It seemed to him that they knew it too and explained why his hands were manacled behind him. But something in the back of his mind told him that he would not be expected to make anybody sleep or conjure a dream creature. No, they believed that they had the right man, that he was a Sandman and they had already sold him.

“So, you’re awake are you?” Maxwell crowed at his new prisoner. “Martha told us all about you. Shame she never made it out of here alive. But you will. You’re worth a lot of money to us. Lucky for you, Lady Constance wants you functioning when we deliver you.”  
“What does that mean?” Patrick asked with surprising boldness.

Maxwell smirked at Patrick. Despite his bravely spoken words, he looked as scared as he actually was. Probably worried for his brother, Maxwell silently deduced, and for himself, no doubt.

“It means we won’t inject you with a governor to stop you using your powers. Trust me, you wouldn’t like it. Of course, it does mean that we’ll be keeping you chained up, which is the same effect. But,” he laughed, “if you were wondering how it feels to be injected, just so you know how your brother felt, watch what we do to Francis over there.”  
“What?” Patrick edged forward towards Laura. “What does he mean? What’s happening?”

Looking beyond the bars, Patrick noticed that Francis’ jaw was tightly clenched and he had moved backwards to the centre of the cell. 

“Laura?” he asked again. “What’s going on?”  
“It’s an injection to stop him using his powers,” Laura replied quietly. “He’s had one before but he fought against it and used his abilities to kill Martha.”  
“Martha?” Patrick queried. “The one who was reading M…”

Laura’s eyes opened wide with alarm as she sensed that Patrick was about to refer to the real Sandman. Noticing her expression in time, Patrick corrected himself quickly. 

“… reading me.”  
“She traded your freedom for hers… well, she thought she had.”  
“Watch this, Sandman! When you meet your brother again, you’ll have something to chat about!” he sneered.

Patrick watched with wide horror-filled eyes as Francis was held down and injected, the long needle being plunged without care into his brain. His face contorted in agony, Francis was almost certainly holding back some of the pain despite his loud agonised screams. 

“You did that to Silas?” Patrick yelled, finally able to find his voice despite being shocked to the core.

Maxwell stood, having removed the syringe unnecessarily roughly and turned a sly glance to Patrick, now kneeling at the bars, his expression a mixture of fury and distress.

“Yeah,” Maxwell gloated. “And I enjoyed it too. You have no idea how satisfying it is to exert my own power over you freaks. You don’t deserve to have any powers, you could so easily make so much money with your abilities, but no, you freaks just waste them. Well, I make sure that waste doesn’t continue, or if it does, that you make a nice figure for a display case.”  
“You bastard! I’ll make you pay for what you did to Silas… and Francis!” Patrick yelled, furious with the man’s overwhelming callousness.  
“Will you really?” Maxwell taunted. “Well, I’ll just have to make sure that can’t happen, hadn’t I?” Turning briefly to one of the crew members who had held Francis, Maxwell snapped: “Give me the bag, looks like I have to make up a new injection.”

Patrick’s determination fell away at the words. Edging back, he found the chains on the manacles on his feet too short to allow proper balance and he fell backwards and to his right. Unable to break his fall, Patrick landed painfully while still staring up at the cruel doctor as he grabbed his bag and headed for his cell.

*

Marcus paced back and forth behind a dockyard warehouse, frequently looking up into the sky.

“Where are you?” Marcus complained to no one in particular.  
“You know, a watched Catcher never lands.”

Marcus spun around, surprised by the voice suddenly behind him, inhaling sharply with relief at the man standing in front of him. Exhaling as suddenly as he inhaled, Marcus dropped to one knee and bowed his head.

“Mr Crab, Sir, thank you for hearing me.”  
“Mr Sandman, please rise, there’s no need for that.”

Marcus stared up, still down on one knee, uncertain whether he should stand or not.

“Please… Marcus… get up, there really is no need.”  
“But, Sir, I… I asked my father about you when I got home. We found Ruler Owen’s old journals. You’re a…”  
“No! I’m not,” Mr Crab interrupted.   
“But you were one of the Originals, you dispensed all powers. You really are…”  
“No, my young friend, you’re mistaken.” 

Mr Crab ushered Marcus over to a couple of boxes standing slightly clear of about a dozen others. Taking a seat and indicating that Marcus do the same, Mr Crab readied himself to explain.

“I will tell this to you, because you’re not entirely wrong about me, but I want it to remain between us, do you understand?”  
“Yes, Sir,” Marcus agreed readily.  
“You’re right, I was one of the Originals – a small handful of us with powers beyond anything Carousel had ever seen. But as is often the case, a minority with power will use it for their own ends and the Originals were no exception. They were revered for their abilities and instead of using it for the advantage of those that worshipped them, they used their powers to subjugate them. I disagreed. I thought power should be offered to the people for their own betterment. I had rules and regulations that determined that only good people could be endowed with powers and it was self regulating because there was a little catch in every power I created that made the person behave in a well-intentioned and moral way. They were simply incapable of doing anything with their powers to hurt people. It’s always been like that, it always will be. But, as you may guess, I was in a minority of one with the Originals and they fought to restrain my own powers. To this end, they managed it partially, but I retained my power to grant luck. We fought and they tried hard to take my powers and kill me. They told me that to get the better of them, I would have to be the luckiest man alive. I guess the name stuck.”  
“You killed them?” Marcus asked quietly.  
“No,” Mr Crab frowned. “They’re in a sort of stasis. Everything they are is contained. I didn’t want to do it, but they would have destroyed Carousel if I hadn’t.”  
“How did you do it?” Marcus asked, intrigued.  
“No, my young friend, that is not a story I wish to tell. Too many bad memories. But, your Catcher friend is almost here.”

Marcus glanced skywards to see the shape of Donnie descending at a rapid pace with Joe, Pete and Andy mere distant dots.

“Am I right in understanding that Doctor Benzedrine is in trouble again?”  
“Yes, Sir,” Marcus turned back. “It’s not his fault though, he was kidnapped by slavers.”  
Mr Crab frowned gravely and shook his head. “Power slavers are an evil breed,” he commented. “Oh, and please stop calling me ‘Sir’. I told you, my past is between you and me.”  
“Then what…?”  
“Mr Crab or Shoe will be fine.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow. This man was an Original, the one who had first bestowed powers on ordinary people. How could he treat him normally and keep his secret? But he had given his word. Trying to put it from his mind, Marcus turned back to watch Donnie catch the three musicians.

*

“No!” Laura cried at Maxwell’s words. “You can’t!”

The injection had never been given to a normal human before. It was painful and devastating enough to a person with special powers, a normal human may not even survive. It had simply never been tried.

“Can’t?” Maxwell raised an eyebrow. “Can’t, Laura? Tell me why not.”  
“Lady Constance doesn’t trust you,” she blurted. “She doesn’t believe you have a Benzedrine and a Sandman.”  
“She’s got the Benzedrine,” Maxwell snapped in return.  
“But she’s not had proof that he is,” she countered. “That’s why she doesn’t want you to inject Marcus, so she can be sure of what she’s buying.”  
“Is that so?” Maxwell frowned. “And why exactly are you telling me this? I thought you didn’t want to help us any more?”  
“I don’t,” she shook her head sadly. “But I don’t want you to hurt Marcus and if I have to help you to help him, then that’s what I have to do.  
“It’s a shame we have to sell them,” he smirked again, “it’s so much easier to keep you in line when they’re here.”

*

Silas sighed heavily. He was bored, he was angry and he was frightened. His shoulder still ached from the rough treatment that Henry had subjected him to earlier. It seemed to him that his buyers clearly had no qualms about treating him badly. They had already told him that they would soon have Marcus and they would force each of them to assist in their robberies under threat of hurting the other brother. The idea of it caused Silas to frown deeply, but the frown slowly began to turn into a smile. They couldn’t force them to do anything. How could they? A simple wave of Marcus’ hand and they’d all be asleep! The frown returned at his next thought – and they would be forever trapped in their cell. Unless… maybe they could free themselves from the cell? A lock was simply a lock, even if it was… was it electric? Magnetic? There didn’t seem to be anywhere for a key. When his powers returned to him, he would be able to free them both, he was certain. Walking to the bars, his fingers curled slowly around them and he hung his head miserably. 

“Who am I kidding?” he said quietly to himself. “They know what they’re doing, they didn’t just buy us on a whim. All this was already prepared, they’ve been after something from the slavers for a long time.”

Silas’ was startled; his thoughts disturbed by a loud slow hand-clap. Looking up, Silas now saw that a woman had entered the room. She was tall, blonde and slender. Her professionally styled hair and make up, a couture dress and perfectly manicured hands marked her out to be Lady Constance Allandra, Silas’ buyer. Rich, important, powerful, almost certainly self-styled nobility and, of course, a thief.

“You are indeed quite intelligent, but then, you are a doctor, I wouldn’t expect anything else from you.”  
“Lady Constance, I presume?” Silas narrowed his eyes, glaring with a bitterness he had never before felt.  
“Oh, my dear!” she laughed almost musically. “If looks could kill I would be long overdue for my grave.”  
“Don’t let me keep you!” Silas snapped in return.  
“My dear, Silas…”  
“Doctor Benzedrine,” Silas corrected staring as harshly as he was able.  
“Silas,” she began again, pointedly using his first name, “I’m trying to treat you reasonably well. I will see to your needs, but rest assured, you are mine now. You will do exactly as I command you to and you’ll do it willingly.”  
“You must be crazy!” The surprise he felt was clear in Silas’ voice as it raised a tone for his reply. “Willingly?”  
“Okay, let me rephrase…” She approached the bars, all the while her eyes never left Silas’ own. There was something very threatening about the wildness in her stare and the slow steady pace with which she moved closer. “Your brother will be here shortly and yes, you’re right, we have been prepared for something a little special from the slavers for some time. We couldn’t have expected this, of course, I doubt even they imagined something this good. But trust me, we are prepared to force you both. We have the means and the ability… oh, and the willingness. We will hurt you if we have to. Remember too that the people of your district are still asleep. It would be an easy matter to find your family.”  
“No!” Silas gripped the bars in both hands, his ashen face, wide-eyed and staring at the terrible threat.  
“Think about it, my dear doctor,” she smiled sweetly. “I have invested a great deal of money in you, I expect a very good return and I will do anything to get what I want. I have had word from Dr Maxwell, your brother will be here within the hour.”  
“They’ve got him?” 

Silas’ voice was feeble and bleak. He had hoped desperately that Marcus would manage to evade them. To somehow get the better of them, to find and rescue him, but in reality, he probably didn’t even know that anything was wrong. He would have been an easy target for the slavers. Unsuspecting prey – just as he had been. Lady Constance offered a superior smile before turning and heading for the door. Lost in his own troubled thoughts, Silas barely noticed she had left. Rolling back away from the bars, Silas sank to the floor; desperately unhappy for both himself and Marcus, he lowered his head to his knees as he finally realised that there was nobody who could help them now.

*

“He’s arrived, yes,” Henry sat across from the small desktop Avstandball in his room.  
“And the other one?” asked the image of another man inside the glass ball.  
“He’s on his way here now,” Henry confirmed.  
“So it won’t be long then?”   
“It will, they injected the Benzedrine with a Dioxodon governor. He can’t use his powers yet.”  
“Damn!” the image growled. “When can they start?”  
“I don’t know, I had him try to use his powers before, but he couldn’t do it.”  
“You forced him… with a Dioxodon governor inside him?”   
“Yes, sir, but I have to know when he’s got his powers back,” he argued.  
“It’ll be days before the governor disperses from his system.”  
“Days?” Henry frowned. “I didn’t know that.”  
“So, I’m assuming from that that you haven’t said anything to him.”  
“Of course I haven’t!” Henry hissed. “You don’t really expect me to do you?”  
“No…” the man shook his head thoughtfully. “No I guess not. But… I’ll find out the dispersal rate for you.”  
“That’ll be useful,” Henry nodded.  
“See if you can find out how much they used on him.”  
“I’ll do my best.”

*

“What do you mean, they took Patrick!”  
“I went to get a map, Pete,” Marcus tried to explain. “Patrick wasn’t feeling very well and he…”  
“Marcus! You told me you’d been practising!” Donnie cut in.  
“I… I had…” Marcus replied sheepishly.  
“Really?” Donnie asked, sceptically with one eyebrow raised.  
“No,” Marcus admitted.  
“Are you ever going to stop lying, Marcus?” Donnie frowned, hurt that his friend had lied to him, again.  
“I… I’m sorry, Donnie,” Marcus lowered his eyes.  
“Practising what?” Andy asked with curiosity.  
“Catching,” Donnie replied. “He can manage the catch itself, but not the after effects. Patrick would have felt very queasy.”  
“This isn’t helping to find Patrick!” Pete shouted.  
“No,” Donnie agreed, “we need some way to find him, do you have any idea where they took him, Marcus?”  
“Yes,” Marcus smiled broadly as he looked up once more. “We have luck on our side,” he added indicating to Mr Crab who was still sitting quietly on one of the boxes.  
“Mr Crab!” Joe smiled, knowing that if anyone could find who had taken Silas and Patrick, it would be him.

Smiling in return, Mr Crab rose and, joining the small group, greeted them briefly.

“I think, given that there are power slavers in the area, you probably shouldn’t use my last name. It’s quite well known, even though most people nowadays do believe me to be merely fictional. No, please just call me Shoe. Now then, Marcus here has asked for some luck to find his brother and your friend and I have granted it to him – please, find the slavers.”


	8. "Patrick, how The Hills did you get involved in all this?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search is still on for Patrick, but where is he now?

Light poured in, streaming down the stairs, followed by the clatter of many feet on the wooden boards as Maxwell and three others descended the stairs into the hold. Patrick looked up, somehow knowing that he was about to be taken from the cell but across from him, in the next cell, something else was diverting his attention. Laura had risen and approached the bars and her expression was difficult to read at first. He could see that she was trying hard to harden her gaze, but there was an underlying torment in her eyes. Hurt anger and grief jostled for dominance and all the while she maintained her resolve to keep her expression fierce. It plainly wasn’t working. The source of her determination soon became apparent. A tall and tanned man, obviously several years older than Laura, stood proudly in the centre of the hold, merely staring at her. Laura knew him all too well as the Captain and her brother.

“Thomas,” Laura forced her voice above a whisper. “You have no hold over me any more.”  
“Yes, I heard you don’t want to help us find freaks any more,” he smirked as he took a step or two closer.  
“We’re not freaks!” Her tone was curt and brusque, but it was obvious that she was holding back a great wave of emotion. The entire hold bristled with the tension between the two.  
“No, Laura, that’s exactly what you are. You, him, them and this one,” he replied, pointing at the various occupied cells, finally ending with Patrick. “You’re all freaks. All wasting your own potential but maximising mine. Not one of you has got the brains to do what I’m doing, not one of you! You!” he yelled, pointing to the twins. “I have a buyer for you that has plans for you that I bet you’ve never dreamed of!”  
“Let us guess,” both twins began in unison with almost an undertone of amusement. “We both hear the same things, and we both speak the same things. So you have in mind competitions of knowledge – me several miles away at a computer obtaining all the answers to the questions that we can both hear and my twin speaking the same answer as I do. It hardly requires a mastermind to think of that.”

The Captain frowned deeply; angry that the twins were so easily able to mock him. 

“So if you know what you could be doing, why aren’t you?” he growled.  
“Because it’s a skill, a gift bestowed by the legendary Mr Crab, it is not to be used for personal gain or to harm anyone,” Francis replied.  
“Really?” the Captain sneered. “Well, let me tell you this – Mr Crab is fiction. He doesn’t exist, he never did. Your powers weren’t magically bestowed! You’re just a freak of nature!”  
“You don’t know anything,” Francis replied evenly.  
“Don’t I? Well, if you can’t hurt anyone with your powers, how can Laura tell me how to find you all? How did you kill Martha? Mr Crab is a myth and you’re all just freaks! And you!” he turned a deep scowl toward Patrick. “You’re going to make me the wealthiest man in Carousel! Take him on deck.”

Patrick turned an urgent expression towards Laura, silently willing her to locate Pete and tell him where they could be found. Her expression, one of dulled pain and despair, made him gasp as he was dragged past and through the cell door. Realising almost as soon as he arrived that this man must be her brother, Patrick tried to imagine how he would feel in her position, but it was as if his mind simply wouldn’t allow the sheer torment of the situation to rest in his thoughts for more than a few moments. He wanted nothing more than to comfort her but there was nothing he or anyone there could do. He vowed silently to himself that if he and Silas managed to escape, he wouldn’t rest until they were all free. Almost as if she knew his thoughts, Laura offered a faint smile and an almost imperceptible nod only moments before he was pulled away.

*

Still behind the warehouse, Marcus spread the map out on top of one of the boxes. Leaning over it, Marcus’ brow creased as he studied the detailed layout of the area. Outwardly patient, inside he was in turmoil as he waited for luck to guide him to where the slavers were. 

“Marcus,” Mr Crab placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. “You have the answer you’re looking for; you just need to believe it.”

Marcus glanced up with a pained expression. Mr Crab was aware of his thoughts, or at the very least his uncertainties. He could have been angry – assuming that Marcus doubted him and his ability to bestow luck, but no, he was kind, gentle and reassuring. Nodding briefly, the troubled Sandman moved his hand to point to a large jetty marked on the map at the end of the docks nearest the old market. 

“They’re here,” he finally announced.  
“And Patrick?” Andy prompted.  
“Yes,” he nodded confidently, “he’s…” Marcus paused mid-sentence. “I’m not sure.”

Donnie frowned with concern at his friend’s self-doubt. When Silas had been measuring out the dose of antidote to give to Patrick when he had been poisoned, he had almost done it without hesitation, standing by his decision even when questioned. Was Marcus really so unsure of himself that he couldn’t even believe his own instincts? All his lies? Were they merely to cover up his own perceived shortcomings? Could he really be so insecure?

“Mr… Shoe,” he all but pleaded. “I don’t understand.”

Taking Marcus gently by the arm, Mr Crab led the Sandman a discreet distance away and smiled kindly.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Marcus,” he prompted.  
“He was there, I felt it, I really did and then… and then it seemed as though he wasn’t there and I… I don’t know what to do. Am I imagining it? Did I get it wrong?”  
“My dear, Marcus,” Mr Crab smiled again. “You must believe in yourself. You are absolutely correct. The moment you felt his presence at the jetty, he was there, but my guess would be that they are already moving him and now because we’ve tried to find the slavers, we have temporarily lost Patrick.”  
“Temporarily?” Marcus pressed. “We can find him?”  
“We need to find the slavers first,” Mr Crab nodded.  
“Why?” Marcus asked; a puzzled expression passing fleetingly across his face. “I… I’m sorry, Mr Crab… I didn’t mean to question you!” Sighing heavily, Marcus lowered his head. “I didn’t mean to say your name either. I’m really sorry!”  
“That’s okay,” Mr Crab chuckled. “I told you Marcus, you must not react in terms of who you think I am.”  
“But I don’t think it… I know it! You’re an…”  
“I’m your friend, that’s all. Please, Marcus, you need to remember that.” Mr Crab nodded to emphasise his words. “Now, the reason we need to find the slavers is that I cannot grant you any more luck until that task is completed. We must find them. There may still be a great deal to learn from them.”  
“What about Silas?”  
“I believe they will be together.”

Marcus nodded solemnly and readied himself to return to the small group just as a commotion reached his ears. Turning quickly, he could see Andy and Joe crouching low. At their feet, Pete lay face down on the floor, every muscle in his body convulsing violently. Twitching and shaking, Pete’s eyes were still open, but they had rolled back in their sockets so that almost all that was visible was white. Foam bubbled up around his lips and he began to make gurgling and choking noises.

“Pete!” Joe cried, gripping his shoulders, trying hard to stop the increasingly violent seizures, to no avail.  
“What happened?” Marcus cried, running back and kneeling at Pete’s side.  
“I don’t know,” Andy answered as concisely as he could. “He just gripped his head and collapsed.”

Only a moment’s hesitation followed before Marcus moved his outstretched palm across Pete’s eyes, calming him instantly. His body had grown rigid under the strain and the sudden sagging of his muscles made it seem as if he had collapsed all over again.

“What did you do?” Joe asked, now almost breathless with concern.  
“He’s in a deep sleep,” Marcus looked up. “We have to find somewhere quiet. I need to make him dream about what happened so I can find out.”  
“But what about the slavers?” Donnie asked. “Where’s Patrick?”

Marcus’ brow creased with worry-lines at the dilemma he now faced. Mr Crab had just told him that if they didn’t find the slavers he couldn’t be granted any luck to find Patrick and Silas, but he knew now that Patrick had already been taken from the ship. If he stayed with Pete, the slavers might leave, but if he left Pete without knowing what was wrong he had no idea if he would recover. He had an impossible decision to make.

*

"We have to split up," Marcus finally sighed. "Patrick's being moved and we have to find the slavers before they leave."  
"But why, if..." Joe began.  
"Shoe, can you explain on the way, please? I have to stay with Pete," Marcus interrupted; there was literally no time to explain.  
"I'll stay with you," Donnie offered; he himself was as confused as Joe and Andy were as to what was happening.   
"Come," Mr Crab tapped Andy’s elbow in an attempt to encourage the two musicians to walk with him. "I'll explain on the way."

Looking down at Pete, both Andy and Joe were at first reluctant to leave. Grateful that Marcus had managed to stop the seizures he was having, it didn't prevent them worrying over the cause of them.

"I'll find out what happened," Marcus assured them. "I promise, he'll be okay. Please, you have to go, we might not be able to find Silas and Patrick if you don't."

Nodding unhappily, Joe and Andy headed off in the direction of the jetty with Mr Crab while behind them Marcus knelt at Pete's side, with Donnie crouching next to him.

"Have you ever seen anything like this?" Donnie asked with uncertainty filling his tone.  
"No, but then, how often do we deal with Normal Worlders?"   
"You think this has something to do with them being from Normal World? How?"  
"Oh, Donnie, I'm just guessing. I have no idea, but it's the only thing I can think of. I mean, I've never seen anything like this, ever!" 

Marcus frowned as he looked down at Pete, now sleeping peacefully on the floor. Waving his hand over Pete's eyes once more, Marcus closed his own eyes and tuned in to the dream that Pete was now experiencing. The dream was still in darkness and the Sandman was beginning to think that reading the dreams of Normal Worlders was impossible until a sudden explosion of energy engulfed him, knocking him backwards and off his knees. Gasping for breath, Marcus found himself steadied by Donnie's hands. Opening his eyes once more, he turned to his friend.

"He was attacked!" he gasped.  
"What by?" Donnie asked, his brow furrowed in confusion - who would even know about Pete and why would they want to attack him?  
“By…” Marcus frowned as he mentally examined the energy blast, breaking it down into smaller pieces, and filtering out the signature. “A Locator.”

Donnie looked at Marcus’ equally incredulous expression, he strongly suspected that the question that formed in his own mind was mirrored in Marcus’, but despite the obvious nature of the question, he spoke the words.

“What’s a Locator doing attacking Pete?”  
“I don’t know, I… I don’t suppose it’s possible that she missed her target, do you think?” Marcus replied, suddenly concerned for the group heading directly for the slavers.  
“She?”   
“The signature was female.”  
“Well, what was she doing in his head? Extracting information, location, what?” Donnie asked.  
“Donnie, what if she’s the same one that was in my head?”  
“Well does it feel the same?”  
“No,” Marcus frowned, puzzled by the difference, “but she was more careful with me, she tried not to be detected. But with Pete, she full on assaulted him!”  
“Will he be okay?” Donnie asked with concern.  
“I don’t know; he took quite a battering. The Locator seems to have made no adjustment for how close he was and well, from what I can gather, Normal Worlders are much more sensitive than Carouselians without powers. “But if she is the Locator for the slavers, I’ve sent the others straight to her! I’ve got to warn them! Donnie, stay with Pete.”  
“Marcus, you can’t just go…”  
“I have to warn them. You don’t understand, Shoe… he’s…” Marcus had given his word to keep Mr Crab’s history to himself, but it was important and Donnie needed to know. Marcus cursed inwardly – a promise was a promise. “He’s in danger.”  
“You mean like you would be racing off on your own or I would be staying here alone with an unconscious Normal Worlder?”

Marcus turned back to look at Donnie. He was frustrated and confused. It was all going horribly wrong. All he wanted was for everyone to be safe and everything to be under his control – that wasn’t much to ask, was it? Finally it was up to Donnie to bring some stability back to Marcus’ panicked thoughts.

“Marcus, Shoe’s no fool, he knows exactly where he’s going, he’s not going to put himself or Joe and Andy at risk, is he?”  
“I… I guess not, but…”  
“So, we need to concentrate on Pete, like we said we would. Find out what the Locator wanted and see if he’s hurt. Yes?” Donnie nodded for emphasis and sighed with relief as he saw Marcus nodding with him.  
“You’re right, I’m sorry. I’ll go back in,” Marcus replied, kneeling once more at Pete’s side. “I’ll see if I can break down what happened, see what she did to him.” 

Donnie nodded his relief. Es Galleons was a dangerous place – on arrival there, Marcus had been attacked and Patrick captured by slavers, all happening when alone. This was not a place to be alone.

*

Doctor Benzedrine looked up with a sigh as the outer door of the room housing his cell opened.

“What now?” he muttered to himself, flexing his fingers and wishing his powers worked. He could tell without even having to try that the compound acting as a governor was still very much present. Any attempt to break out of the cell or even to make people forget they had seen him would result in excruciating pain. He hoped it would be out of his system soon. If he could make people forget they had seen him, effectively become invisible to them, they would think he’d escaped and in the search, he would slip out and begin the search for Marcus. 

He could hear footsteps, more than one set this time, at least three people. Pushing himself to his feet, Silas approached the bars and gasped in surprise as he saw Patrick being dragged towards the cell. Opening his mouth to speak, he was interrupted immediately.

“Silas! Are you okay?” Patrick began. “I’m sorry they got both of us.”

Silas frowned. It was a coded message certainly, that was obvious enough, but why was Patrick pretending to be Marcus? Was it by choice? With an inward sigh of relief, Silas spotted that he was manacled. It could only mean one thing, no injection. But how could they think he was a Sandman? How had Patrick managed to convince them? Above all his concern and fear, Silas was very confused.

“I… I’m fine,” he stammered. “You?”  
“That’s it is it?” Henry scoffed at the exchanged greetings. “That’s all you’ve got to say to one another? You act like you barely know each other!”  
“I… I…” Silas stammered. “I just can’t believe they… I thought he’d…”  
“When the slavers want someone, they get them,” Henry interrupted.  
“Do they now?” Silas returned dryly; they couldn’t have got this one more wrong if they had tried.

Henry smirked at what he believed was Silas’ anger and frustration emerging. It was important that he kept up the pretence and that they believed him to be the enemy. As the personal assistant of Lady Constance Allandra, he had come to her on the highest recommendations and if there were even the slightest suspicion he was not who he claimed to be, he would be dead in an instant. 

In the circles of the criminal underground few people were more respected than the Monks. Living a solitary life in Carousel’s only monastery, the Monks lived a life that was far from chaste and pious. They lived for what they could get out of life, if that happened within the law it was merely by chance. Organised crime didn’t get much more organised than this and you didn’t get on the wrong side of the Monks, not if you expected to live for very long. But if you were on their right side, you could expect a flourishing career, long life and riches. Henry Samanera had all that. He had worked for the Monks for many years and through a combination of charm, bribery and murder, was able to keep The Guard from their door. It didn’t seem to matter how much evidence The Guard were able to gather against the Monks, that evidence and any witnesses always seemed to go missing before they could be brought to trial. Because of one man, nobody was able to make a charge stick and the Monks lived an apparently guilt-free existence, much to The Guard’s irritation. 

There seemed to be only one possible solution for The Guard – get Henry Samanera out of the picture. This was never going to be an easy task, but when the word went out in the underground that Lady Constance Allandra was looking for a personal assistant, The Guard could hardly believe their luck. Perhaps they could kill two birds with one stone? Perhaps they could begin to build cases against the Monks and deal with the perpetually hard to convict Lady Constance?

Contacted by a member of Lady Constance’s household secretly working for The Guard, Samanera’s greed was such that he was unable to refuse the offer and returned to the monastery to gather his belongings. The Monks, on the other hand, had other ideas and Henry Samanera was never seen again. 

Someone calling himself Henry Samanera did, however, present himself for the position. A member of the Guard, working deep undercover, his remit, to do whatever it took to make everyone believe he was exactly who he said he was. They would arrest Lady Constance and, if lucky, the slavers too. The Sandman and Benzedrine were… well, somehow, they were special and his brief had been amended to see that they remained alive and well, without compromising his identity. Essentially, he had to ensure their long-term safety, even if that meant hurting them in the interim.

Forced back away from the bars, Silas stood at the back of the cell and watched as the door opened briefly and Patrick was shoved inside, the manacled at his wrists now removed. 

“You’ll have plenty of time to catch up, Lady Constance can’t use you until you’re both functioning,” Henry growled as he hit a button on the wall causing a transparent sheet of what appeared to be glass to close across the inside of the bars. Even as Patrick stared at it, it appeared to shimmer and move as if liquid – yet another impossibility that was seemingly commonplace in this strange world.

Helping him to sit, Silas gently lowered him back so that he rested against the wall. Indicating with his hand that Patrick should remain silent, Silas watched as the room emptied before asking the question that had been on his lips since the moment the singer had been dragged in.

“Patrick, how The Hills did you get involved in all this?”   
“I’ll give you one guess,” Patrick smiled faintly.  
“Marcus,” Silas sighed and nodded. “Let’s hope his plans improve.”


	9. A Trip Into Pete's Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus goes into Pete's mind and gets the surprise of his life

Settling himself at Pete’s side, Marcus closed his eyes once more and placed his hand on Pete’s brow. Taking a deep breath, the worried Sandman entered Pete’s mind once more. This time, he could see more than darkness, but was seriously wishing that the cover of blackness covered his eyes.

“What a mess!” he cried as he looked around inside Pete’s cluttered mind.

Standing on the bank of what initially appeared to be a wide and, in places, very deep river, he soon noticed that what appeared to be water were actually words. Prose, profound statements, poetry, lyrics and simple nonsense flowed, inter-mingled and wound their way between the banks and off into the distance. Piled high up one side of the river were dozens of misshapen boxes and cartons all balance precariously on top of one another with ‘Do not open until...’ dates written on the side in scratchy careless handwriting. Marcus couldn’t help but notice that the earlier dates were on the bottom of the piles, so that when retrieved, the whole edifice was likely to be brought crashing down.

Small birds flew with dramatic purpose, darting in and out of the trees and boxes with practiced ease. Instead if high-pitched twittering sounds, they emitted a low hum. It wasn’t until one flew particularly close that Marcus realised that they weren’t birds at all, but tiny bass guitars. What appeared to be litter blew through the whole scene, occasionally spiralling up like small tornados of paper even though there was no wind. Again, Marcus noted that they seemed to be covered with small doodles and half completed lyrics. Further up the river, he noticed a large machine that looked like a giant meat mincer. In the top poured a flood of images, sights and senses and out of the huge horn shaped front, words spewed, dropping into the river with not so much a splash as a plop. 

Suddenly, Marcus became aware of someone standing at his shoulder. Turning his head, he saw Patrick.

“What are you doing here?” he asked confused, having expected, if anyone, to see Pete.  
“I’m always here,” he replied simply.  
“Oh!” Marcus wasn’t sure exactly how to reply. “Do you know where Pete is?”  
Patrick nodded. “Yeah, he’s over there,” he pointed to the opposite side of the river where they could both see Pete, clearly in the middle of a heated argument with someone.   
“Thanks,” Marcus began only to be surprised to find Patrick already walking away. “Patrick?”  
Turning back to face him, Patrick realised an eyebrow. “Yes?”  
“You’re different in here.”  
“Yeah, he likes me to be here, but only if I say and do what he wants, and that’s okay. It gives him some stability and it gives the real me a bit of a break from his controlling tendencies.”  
“Does the real you know you’re here?” Marcus asked, barely believing he was asking the question.  
Patrick smiled faintly as he considered the question. “If he does, he never mentions it. Best to assume no, and don’t tell him.”  
“Uh... yeah.” Marcus replied with uncertainty before pointing over to where Pete stood. “Who’s he with?”   
“I don’t know, she’s new.”  
“She?”  
“Yeah, she really hurt him, but he won’t let me over there.”  
“Well, he won’t stop me!” Marcus replied with determination.  
Patting him reassuringly on the shoulder, Patrick turned to leave. “You’ll need the bridge then,” he added, handing him a small key.  
“Thanks,” Marcus replied, wondering what the key was for, but noticing only now a small bridge that crossed the river a short walk away. “Thanks!”

Heading for the bridge, Marcus couldn’t help but stare in wonder at the design. Along each side of the wooden slatted walkway was a giant stave fashioned in wrought iron. Across each, beginning with a bass clef was a series of notes, musically correct, but the layout was far from classical with some of the stems curling or split in two or back to front. Across the top of the bridge, notes were linked between the staves by a mesh of crisscross curved iron bars. It was simply breathtaking. Only a few steps onto the bridge, Marcus turned sharply at a clanging sound behind him as the end of the bridge was suddenly sealed off by an elaborate wrought iron gate.

“What...?” he gasped in surprise, then turning back to see a similar gate swinging into place at the other end.

Racing forward, Marcus’ hands reached the bars as the gate closed, locked tight. Shaking the gate, Marcus grunted in frustration as it held firm.

“Let me out!” he yelled. “Pete!”  
“You can’t come over here,” a voice from beneath the bridge announced.  
“Who are you? Where are you?”

Slowly but surely a sturdy English Bulldog made its way up the river bank and stood at the barred exit staring up at the perplexed Sandman.

“Did you speak?” he finally asked tentatively.  
“Of course I spoke,” the dog replied in a haughty tone. “Who are you?”  
“I’m Marcus,” he replied still astounded by what he was witnessing. “Who are you?”  
“Never you mind who I am!” the dog snapped back. “What do you want?”  
“I need to talk to Pete, it’s important.”  
“Didn’t Patrick tell you that no one is allowed on this side of the river?”  
“He said he wasn’t.” Marcus frowned.  
“No one is! Just Pete.”  
“Well what about her?” Marcus pointed through the bars at the woman arguing vehemently with Pete.

Turning his head the dog growled angrily on seeing the woman. As he did, Marcus looked down and noticed the key in his hand as if for the first time. Pushing it quickly into the lock when the dog’s head was turned, Marcus smiled broadly as the gate opened. Pushing it wide open, Marcus yelped as the dog snapped its jaws down on the edge if his coat and pulled him back as he tried to run up the hill.

“Let go!” Marcus yelled. “Don’t you know how much this cost?”

The dog merely growled in reply and continued to pull as Marcus tried gingerly to pride his coat away from the over-protective dog. Distracted by the noise, Pete finally broke from his argument and looked down the hill.

“Hemmy!” he called. “It’s okay! Let him through.”

Gasping with relief as the dog, now known to him as Hemmy released him and allowed him to run to Pete.

“That’s Hemingway, he’s very protective,” Pete explained as Marcus joined him, slightly out of breath.  
“But he let her through?”  
“I don’t know how she got here and I don’t understand a word she’s saying.”  
“You’re the Locator?” Marcus asked to Pete’s surprise. “What do you want with Pete? Why did you attack him?”  
“Attack? I didn’t attack him! I’m trying to help him!”  
“You gave him seizures! Who are you?”  
“I’m Laura, Patrick asked me to contact him.”  
“Patrick!” Pete and Marcus spoke together. “You’ve seen him?” Marcus continued. “Where?”  
“On the slave ship, I know where he is now. Him and Silas.”  
“Silas!” Marcus cried elated to hear his brother’s name. “Where are they?”  
“Lady Constance Allandra bought them both, well, she bought you. They took Patrick by mistake, he looks so much like Silas and I see you too have a double.”  
“They’re from Normal World,” Marcus explained, his tone softened as Laura gasped and covered her hand with her mouth. “They’re more sensitive.”  
“Patrick never told me, I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you?”

Pete shrugged lightly, it had been an accident and what mattered now was that witdh Laura’s help they had a lead on Patrick and Silas’ location and it was time to concentrate on finding them.

“Thank you!” Pete managed a smile.  
“Find them quickly. Silas has already suffered a great deal and Patrick is in much more danger.”  
Marcus nodded. “As soon as they realise he’s not me.” 

*

Opening his eyes slowly, Marcus sighed with relief to be out of Pete's mind; a place easily more bizarre than the majority of the dreams he wove.

"Are you okay?" Donnie asked immediately, followed by: "Is Pete okay?"  
"Yeah," Marcus replied, his voice scratchy and hoarse.  
"Are you sure?" Donnie queried, unimpressed by the unconvincing reply.  
"Yeah," Marcus repeated, swallowing to try to get some moisture in his throat. "Just a bit tired. Ah! He's coming out of it now."  
"What was it like?" Donnie asked, curious to know. "Are Normal Worlders any different?"  
"I don't know how to answer that," Marcus rose to his feet and dusted down his coat. "Somehow I doubt that Pete's mind is typical."

Rolling over onto his back, Pete stared up at the two Carouselians.

"What the hell happened to me?"  
"I'll explain on the way," Marcus offered a hand to help Pete stand. "But first we have to find Andy, Joe and Shoe."

*

Patrick was on his feet, relieved simply to be able to move again. Taking in the bleak, sparse cell, his eyes were constantly being drawn to the shimmering wall of what appeared to be water that seemed to flow from left to right inside the barred door.

"What's this?" Patrick asked reaching out a hand toward the strange horizontal waterfall-like effect.  
"Don't touch it!" Silas yelled. But he was already catching Patrick as he was propelled backwards by the force of something akin to a violent electric shock.

Falling heavily into Silas' outstretched arms, Patrick's legs buckled under him immediately. Already knocked backwards by the force of Patrick's body hitting him at speed, the added pressure of having to support him was too much for Silas' already off-balance stance and the pair of them crumpled to the floor in a heap.

"Do you always touch things when you don't know what they are?" Silas asked in disbelief as he rolled Patrick away from him.

Fairly certain it was a rhetorical question, Patrick said nothing while he gathered his wits. Pushing himself upright, Patrick's breathing was still coming in short bursts as he examined his hand.

"You won't be burnt or anything, surprisingly you'll actually just feel a little cold for a while," Silas explained.  
"So," Patrick sighed, annoyed at his own stupidity, "what is it?"  
"It's a maktval," Silas replied with a sigh as he settled himself comfortably on the floor.

Patrick waited patiently for a few moments before once again addressing the question that he believed Silas was actually going to answer.

"You know, Silas, at some point you're going to realise that I haven't a clue what you're talking about!"

Silas looked up in innocent bewilderment at Patrick's statement. Then as the penny dropped, he closed his eyes and nodded his head slowly, a light chuckle on his lips.

"I'm sorry, Patrick, sometimes it's hard for me to remember that you don't just know all of this. Please bear with me; it must all be very strange for you."  
"Yeah," he smiled kindly. "You could say that. So," he prompted, "a maktval is?"  
"They were developed for The Guard... I think you'd say police? If someone with a power committed a crime, they had to have some method of imprisoning them and preventing them from using their powers, whatever they happened to be. The maktval absorbs the energy and stops the effect of the power leaving the cell, that's why it's on the inside of the bars. If you really were Marcus you'd probably be able to unlock it otherwise."  
"Probably?" Patrick queried.  
"It's not one I've tried before," Silas shrugged. "I mean, I've not had one I couldn't open, but as I say, I've not actually seen one of these."  
"How does it...? I mean it looks like water but it's flowing sideways."  
"You really want to know how it works?" Silas raised an eyebrow. "I mean, I could tell you, but, no offence, you won't understand, not without a lot of explanation."  
"No, I guess not, it's not going to help, is it?" Patrick sighed, settling himself back on the floor next to Silas. "Suffice to say that I don't have any powers and you can't use yours."  
"Well, except one," Silas added with a proud smirk. 

Patrick cocked his head on one side as he looked at the still grinning Benzedrine.

"What's that then?"   
"You've seen it, or rather, you haven't," Silas replied cryptically.  
"Silas," Patrick's tone pleaded with him to explain himself.

Losing the smile on his face, Silas suddenly realised how hard this all was for Patrick. Silas knew Marcus' tactics. No matter how well intentioned Marcus had been, it seemed likely that Patrick, possibly all of them, had been forced or more likely tricked into helping him. The real irony being that Silas knew that they would almost certainly have volunteered their help. Now here was Patrick, locked in a cell with him, trapped in a strange world and in very real danger. It wasn't his fault, none of this, but Silas suddenly felt very guilty. Part of his guilt centred around the sense of relief that had swept over him when Patrick had been pushed into the cell and not Marcus. 

"I'm sorry," he finally replied, frowning deeply as Patrick's fear and apprehension suddenly became very obvious and real to him. "I was so glad they hadn't caught Marcus that it just didn't sink in how terrified you must be."

Patrick rubbed the bridge of his nose as if a headache was forming.

"I don't know how I feel," he admitted. "I haven't had time to think about it. Anyway, what power can you use in here?"  
"I can still make them forget they've seen me, you remember I did that? It's like I'm invisible. Well," Silas sighed his annoyance. "I could, if they hadn't injected me with that governor. I can't do anything yet."  
Patrick's eyes widened as he stared at Silas. "They really did that to you? I thought he was lying to me!"  
"You..." Silas began, returning the same shocked expression. "They didn't..."  
"No!" Patrick replied quickly, realising what Silas thought. "They injected another prisoner."  
"A new one?" Silas frowned at the thought of Patrick having witnessed something so frightening.  
Patrick shook his head. "Francis."

Silas' mouth opened slightly before swallowing hard, again consumed with guilt for feeling glad that someone other than Patrick had suffered.

"One thing I don't understand," Patrick frowned. "Why are there slavers?"  
Silas stared in disbelief – could he really be so naive? "People will pay well for someone with a power, sometimes just to put them on display."  
"So not everyone here has powers?" Patrick asked with surprise.  
"No," Silas replied, initially surprised by the question, but only now realising that Patrick had never met anyone in Carousel that didn't have a power. "It's actually quite rare. The thing is, we sort of gravitate together. I do know people without powers, but the majority of my friends and all my family have them... Except Uncle Claude of course."  
"Why not Uncle Claude?" Patrick asked, frowning at the strange comment.  
"Oh, he's ummm... He's a little bit crazy. He might have had one at one point, but I don't know. He likes to... Well, he likes to blow things up. Don't ask me why. All I know is... well, he's a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic."

Patrick tried hard not to smile at the phrase. It seemed impolite to laugh, after all, the man was clearly very ill, but the irreverent statement was too strange to be ignored. There was only one thing he could do to avoid an awkward situation - he had to change the subject.

"So," Patrick pointed over to the door and Maktval again, "that would stop you getting out even if you could use your powers? I must admit, I did wonder if people used their powers to steal or something," he finally said.  
"Oh, no, they don't do that," Silas corrected. "They can commit crimes of course, but they can't use their powers to do it."  
"Why?" Patrick asked, thoroughly confused.  
"It's all part and parcel of the whole having powers thing. You just can't use them to hurt anyone."  
"But when you came to our world, you..." Patrick paused.  
"We scared you, threatened you, even restrained you, but we didn't hurt you, did we?"  
"No, I guess not," Patrick admitted. "Then why did they buy you?" he asked, confused by the statement.  
Silas' shoulders sagged. "Well, it's one of two reasons. Either they don't know - it's not common knowledge. Or, they do know and they know the loophole."  
"There's a loophole?"  
"We can use them for protection. Either our own or for friends or family."  
"So, she can make you do something by threatening Marcus and vice versa?"  
"Exactly," Silas sighed. "But it's worse than that."  
"How could it be worse?" Patrick frowned.  
"Well, you're not Marcus, are you?" Silas turned a bleak expression toward Patrick. "She probably won't threaten you until I have my powers working again, but think about it. When she does, when you refuse to use your powers, she'll torture me, if not both of us until you do - but of course, you can't. And if she finds out you're not Marcus, she'll kill you. You have to convince them you’re a sandman."  
“And hope we’re rescued before you get your powers back,” Patrick added bleakly.  
“Like I said, Marcus’ plans had better improve,” Silas shrugged almost in defeat.


	10. Who’s going to ask for bad luck?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr Crab shows a side of himself that surprises Joe

On board the slavers’ ship Laura lay curled up in the corner of her cell clutching her head and moaning in pain. She could hear voices; from the tone, she could tell that they sounded concerned, but as yet, she could make out no coherent words. Finally, she was dragged from her protective huddle by the sound of someone shouting. It was Francis. Now recovered from the brutal administering of the injection, he was shouting for help, desperately trying to get the slavers’ attention.

“No,” she cried weakly, finally raising her head to reveal heavy-lidded bloodshot eyes. “Don’t call them, please.”  
“But you’re in pain... I can’t ignore that, you need help,” Francis argued, unsure why she would refuse assistance.  
“You don’t understand,” she moaned. “They can’t see me like this.”

Before Laura had a chance to explain, light streamed down into the hold as the hatch was flung back and dropped heavily onto the deck.

“What?” Maxwell yelled angrily as he descended a few stairs.

Laura tried to uncurl her pain-racked body, flopping back against the bars as she did but Maxwell had seen enough to intrigue him.

“Well now,” he smiled with anticipation as he walked down the stairs. “What have you found?”  
“Nothing,” Laura gasped, unable to still the raging heat and pain in her head that threatened to consume her completely. “I have a headache, that’s all.”  
“I can see that, but you forget I know the only two reasons why you would get headaches. Now, no one knows you’re here, so there can’t be anyone intruding in your mind, so you must have found someone. And that someone must be very close and very powerful.”  
“It’s neither,” she lied. “I’m just not well. Leave me alone!”

Maxwell frowned briefly.

“You know, Laura, if we still had Martha, it would be very easy for her to read your mind and see that you’re lying to me, but, if you insist on giving me trouble, it looks as though I have to use a more traditional method.” He sighed as if he were about to say something he regretted, but in truth, he didn’t care. “I warn you, it’s going to hurt. I’ll just get my bag.”

Laura flopped her head back wishing she had been able to hide it better. She really had no idea what it was she was sensing. Usually she knew exactly what she was dealing with and where he or she could be found, but this was so different it almost scared her.

“I’m sorry,” Francis called over the moment Maxwell had left the hold. “I didn’t know, you weren’t answering me. I was... I was worried,” he admitted, surprising himself after so long hating her for her part in their imprisonment.  
“It’s not your fault,” she whispered hoarsely in return. “But, thank you.”  
“Is someone in your mind?”  
“There was,” she nodded faintly.  
“But you’re still in pain,” the Twins remarked, both confused.  
“It’s both,” she whimpered. “Someone’s nearby. Normally, I could block it out and not even show it, like I did with Marcus, you remember? The Sandman. But this one... I don’t know what it is and it’s too strong, I’ve never felt anything like it before.”  
“Someone with multiple powers?” Francis asked.  
“No,” Laura shook her head then wished she hadn’t. “Marcus has multiple powers, it’s not that... It’s... It’s more power than I’ve ever felt in my life, Laura explained, now clutching her throbbing head again.  
“That would definitely explain the headache,” Francis frowned with concern, wondering who could possibly command so much power.  
“Ah, we’ve come to a conclusion, have we?” Maxwell grinned, taking each step with purpose and menace. “What is it? Who or what do we have?”

Without a word, Laura stood slowly, deliberately, simply staring ahead of her before turning her gaze to Maxwell. It was blank, empty, unnerving.

“Are you the one who tortured Doctor Benzedrine and sold him?”

It was as if the voice wasn’t her own. It seemed to resonate with a wholly different tone; it was deep, hollow, dark and very angry.

“What is this?” Maxwell asked a little shakily. “What’s going on?”  
“I said, are you the one who tortured Doctor Benzedrine and sold him?”  
“You know I am,” Maxwell narrowed his eyes in confusion.

A short pause followed before Maxwell began to shake, subtly at first, but increasingly violent shudders gripped him, so intense that he screamed loudly as a number of bones snapped like a twig. A wind whipped up in the hold causing any and all items outside of the cells not secured to fly around in a flurry of increasing proportions. Soon, Maxwell himself was being thrown around like a doll in a whirlwind. Crashing repeatedly into the hull and decking, Maxwell soon hung in the air, limp, bloodied and unconscious, possibly even dead.

“What’s happening?” Francis yelled above the furor without receiving a reply.

Terrified, he and the Twins pressed themselves against the bars at the back of their cells, cowering in terror and desperate to stay well away from the raging miniature storm.

The noise on deck was one of panic. A number of people had looked briefly down into the hold before retreating rapidly. Deep below the ship, a deep rumble grew from nothing, increasing in volume until Francis and the Twins were forced to cover their ears. The deafening sound almost blocked out the sounds of terror from the crew above who were somehow unable to leave the ship, held on board by some invisible power. In a culmination of what seemed like a combination of a hurricane and an earthquake aboard ship, the deck splintered, cracked and finally flew skyward sending planking, rigging, sails and the slaver crew high into the air. Simultaneously, the cell doors flew open so fast and with such force as to rip them from their hinges. Looking up, Francis and the Twins could see the captain, crew and Maxwell falling to their inevitable deaths on dozens of upturned spikes formed from the split decking.

As suddenly as it had begun, it was over and an unnatural calm descended over the ship leaving only the now freed prisoners alive. Laura blinked as if waking from a deep sleep before gasping with horror at the carnage around her.

*

“I believe we’ll find the slavers over there,” Mr Crab calmly pointed in the direction of the wreckage of the ship that had already attracted Joe and Andy’s attention as it exploded.

As they stood open mouth, staring at the wreckage of the ship, neither Joe nor Andy had really taken in Mr Crab’s words, nor the tone in which he spoke them. If they had, they would have realised that he wasn’t just guessing about the slavers’ location. Not even a lucky guess.

Mr Crab knew exactly where they were and he knew precisely what had happened to them and, of course, who was to blame. But blame wasn’t something he would acknowledge. These men had hurt two of his friends, friends to whom he was indebted. They had saved his life; released him from an eternity of imprisonment in a lonely silent void.

He had spent the better part of twenty thousand years trapped in a dream dimension, sent there by Ruler Owen, a man who liked to control those that dared to speak against him. That dream dimension had then been hidden inside another and disguised so that any subsequent Sandman would be unaware even of its existence. He had often pondered over whether or not it had been cruel of Owen to have provided him with a window to Carousel. Allowed to view only three areas – The Hills, The Dream World and his adopted home town of Vie Derris – Mr Crab knew that it was intended to be a kind of torture. To watch the man who had arranged his imprisonment crush the spirit of the people of Carousel, the Sandman who had sent him there and his beloved town and the friends that he would never see again was truly distressing at times, but in many ways it had kept him sane.

Watching from his prison, he had seen rulers come and go. The death of Ruler Owen should have been a day to celebrate but in fact it was the exact opposite. With him went Mr Crab’s last hope of ever being released. While Owen was alive, there was always the slim possibility that one day he would be released, either by an aging man relenting or by a dying man needing luck. Either way, it didn’t happen and with his death, went the knowledge of where he was trapped.

Perhaps his reaction to the slavers had been extreme, but the anger inside him at the idea that there were still people who thought they could take away someone’s liberty just because they were different. That they could use them, hurt them, even sell them! It sickened him to his very core. His reaction was partly born of indignance and partly belated revenge for what had happened to him. Either way, he was well on the way to successfully achieving part of his duty-bound objective. Seven men, who had become firm friends over the course of their previous encounter, had saved his life and he would, in turn, save theirs. He knew that he may never achieve his pledge and a significant part of him hoped that they would never find themselves in sufficient danger to require his assistance, but if they did, he would be there.

He watched as Joe and Andy sprinted towards the ship looking to find anyone who might still be alive who could tell them where Patrick and Silas had been taken. Neither of them truly believed that anyone could have survived whatever had happened to the now severely listing ship. But as they drew closer, movement caught Joe’s eye.

“There!” he yelled, pointing to what they would soon realise was Laura.  
“And another!” Andy yelled in reply at the sight of Francis hauling himself on deck before leaning down to help the twins up the damaged staircase. They blinked and squinted in the sunlight, moving gingerly amongst the wreckage and pale lifeless bodies of their erstwhile captors.

“What happened?” Francis finally broached the question.  
“I don’t know,” Laura shook her head. “I don’t remember any of it.”  
“A new power you didn’t know about?” the Twins asked shakily.  
“This wasn’t me,” Laura shook her head emphatically.  
“It looked like you,” Francis pressed. “You asked him if he was the one who tortured and sold the Benzedrine.”  
“It wasn’t me,” she insisted.  
“The intense power you felt?” the Twins asked.  
Laura nodded. “It has to be.”  
“Is it gone?” Francis asked. “You don’t have a headache now,” he went on to explain.  
Laura frowned. “No, he’s still there, just pulled back, he’s really restraining his own power.”  
“He?” Francis asked surprised that she could now distinguish something.  
“Are you okay?” Andy shouted, as he and Joe got close enough, behind them, Mr Crab walked at a steady pace.  
“We… we’re fine,” Laura replied before turning to the others and nodding to check. “Yeah, we’re fine. Who are you?”  
“Are you the slavers?” Joe asked bluntly, ignoring her question.  
“No, we’re not,” Francis snapped back. “And if you want them, you’re too late!” he couldn’t help but smirk as he indicated to what was left of the deck.  
“No!” Andy replied quickly. “We’re friends of Patrick and Silas.”  
“Silas!” Laura cried, scrambling down from the wreckage.

Joe stared at what remained of the ship; amazed that it was still afloat. Was it luck? Turning, he watched with curiosity as Mr Crab approached slowly, utterly unmoved by what they had witnessed. Only then did Joe realise who was responsible.

Moving forward to meet the escaping prisoners, Andy greeted them with an urgent request.

“Do you know where they are? We have to find them, they’re in real danger!”  
“I know, especially Patrick. They think he’s a Sandman, they’ll kill him if they find out he isn’t.”  
“Can you tell us where they are?” Andy pressed.  
“I can do better,” Laura smiled. “I can show you.”  
“You’d do that?” Andy grinned in return.  
“It’s my fault they were captured…” Laura began.  
“No, it isn’t,” Francis argued. “It’s not your fault at all, not with them, not with us.”  
“What do you mean?” Andy queried.  
“They forced her to find us all. Threatened her with the murder of her brother. She had no choice,” Francis explained. “It took Silas to show me that.”

Andy smiled warmly. It seemed that much like Patrick, Silas had a positive effect on everyone he met.

“You’ll help us?” Andy asked, his tone light with relief but still urgent.  
“I will. Gladly,” Laura nodded, keen to finally be able to locate someone to help them. But also, she would be the first to admit that she was longing to see Silas once more.

“Yes,” Mr Crab said as he reached Joe’s side. “I know you’re wondering and the answer is yes.”  
“You killed them.” The way Joe whispered the words fell somewhere between question and statement. He tried hard not to stare with a look of horror on his face, but what he had witnessed was too horrific to ignore, especially now he realised it was no accident.  
“I thought you just dispensed luck,” he finally managed.  
“They had some bad luck,” Mr Crab replied evenly.  
“I thought people had to ask for luck?” Joe was, by now, frowning deeply at the realisation that his own counterpart had killed the slavers.  
“Who’s going to ask for bad luck?” Mr Crab shrugged lightly. “I deal that at my own discretion.”  
“You killed them,” Joe barely managed to whisper.  
“We’re a step closer to finding Patrick and Silas,” Mr Crab pointed out.  
“And you think that justifies murder?” Joe’s brow creased further.  
“These people captured, tortured and sold your friends.”

Joe merely frowned in reply. Mr Crab’s attempt at justification made him feel uncomfortable. What they had done was terrible but… They now knew where to find Patrick and Silas, but… Could there really be any justification for what he had done?

“I’m sorry, Joe.”

Joe glanced up. Why was Mr Crab apologising? Regret at his actions didn’t seem likely. He seemed unnervingly clinical about that.

“No, I’m sorry that I’ve shocked you. Perhaps you’ll understand in time?”

Joe gave a weak grimace in reply; he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to understand.


	11. What Would Pete Do?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick has to emulate Mr Sandman and works out how by asking himself the question - What would Pete do?

“Like I said, something’s gone wrong and I don’t know how,” Henry paused as he stared at the avstandball, waiting cautiously for the reply.  
“Well, are you even going to tell me what’s gone wrong? Then we can worry about how, and even if it matters.”  
“The Sandman arrived...”  
“Mister Sandman,” the voice corrected in an irritable tone.  
“Yes... Sorry. Mr Sandman arrived yesterday, but it isn’t him.”  
“What do you mean, it isn’t him? Are you telling me they’ve captured a different sandman? That’s... unexpected.”  
“No, Sir, I don’t know who this is, but, not only is he passing himself off as Mr Sandman, but Dr Benzedrine’s going along with it.”  
“Hmm... That is very strange. Do you have no idea who he is?”  
“That’s the strangest thing - he’s the very image of the doctor,” Henry explained as best he could whilst confused himself. “But wearing very unusual clothes,” he added.

The man took a deep breath as he considered the words. It certainly wasn’t what he had expected his spy to say. It changed things, certainly - it was going to make things much more complicated.

“What should I do?” Henry asked, unsure if the newcomer was to be considered expendable or not.  
“There is only one possibility,” the man began carefully. “The other man is from Normal World.”  
“But how?” Henry asked, amazed that his superior had drawn such a swift and certain conclusion.  
“Never mind how!” the man snapped. “I don’t employ you to question, just to do.”  
“Yes, Sir...” Henry replied sheepishly, before adding nervously. “But what do I do?”  
“What do you mean, what do you do?” The man grew increasingly angry. “What’s changed?”  
“Sir... This man, he’s not Mr Sandman, so... I presume he’s expendable?”  
“No he is not!” came the furious reply. “Not only will you protect him, but you’ll play along with the pretence. Not only will you behave as if he he were Mr Sandman, but if required to test him, you will pretend to fall asleep when he gestures.”   
“But, Sir! All this fuss for a Normal Worlder? I don’t understand.”  
“You don’t have to, just do as I say. The Normal Worlder is under your protection. Do your job and do it well!”  
“Yes, Sir,” Henry sighed resignedly. “I’ll keep them safe... in the long term, but short term, I may need to...”  
“Sergeant...” the gruff, harsh voice faded and now sounded almost unhappy. “The Normal Worlder won’t survive sustained torture. They don’t seem to have the same strength that we do.”  
“I can’t not... I’ll blow my cover,” Henry argued concerned about what his superior was suggesting.  
“I know,” the man sighed sadly. “As much as I hate to say it, if you have to torture anyone, it will have to be Dr Benzedrine.”  
“Won’t Lady Constance find that a little odd?” Henry queried, still concerned for his cover as her personal assistant.  
“Damn it, man! I’m not going to do everything for you! Think of something. Use your initiative!”  
“Yes, Sir,” Henry replied trying hard not to sound as nervous as he felt. He had been in numerous dangerous situations - even life threatening ones. Yet nothing ever made him feel as afraid as he did whenever he spoke to the Captain of The Guard.

*

Pete was desperately trying to keep up, not letting on how bad he felt. Severely shaken and disorientated by Laura’s unintentionally painful intrusion into his mind, Pete still hadn’t recovered. But now they were hard on the heels of Joe, Andy and Shoe who had gone ahead to find the slavers and Pete was more than willing to put aside his own discomfort to improve their chances of finding Patrick and Silas.

The scene that greeted them as they reached the docks was a shocking one. The slavers ship hung at a peculiar angle in the water, part sunk at the head and severely listing to the left, the ship appeared as if she may roll over and be consumed by the crystal clear tranquil waters at any moment. The main mast had fallen dragging much of the rigging overboard, the torn sails billowing in the breeze or swirling in the sea. The splintered decking still clearly displaying the speared corpses of the crew was both a shocking and horrifying sight for the trio, despite which, Marcus couldn’t help but find a fleeting smirk play across his lips. Whatever they had done to Silas, this was almost certainly not punishment enough. 

Seeing Joe and Shoe, Pete ran forward, skidding to a halt as he arrived at Joe’s side.

“What happened?” Pete asked urgently. 

Joe took a deep breath as he turned his gaze toward Shoe. His frown gave little away to Pete other than possible confusion. Shoe merely stared blankly back; he clearly had no intention of admitting his guilt to Pete. Joe concluded that, as he had earlier believed, Shoe felt no guilt over what he had done, but neither did he feel obliged to even explain. Finally turning to face Pete, Joe’s frown softened at his friend’s pale features - whatever had happened to him had drained him utterly.

“I don’t know, it was happening as we arrived,” he finally replied almost honestly before changing the subject. “Are you okay? What happened to you back there?”

Still looking over at the wreckage of the slavers’ ship, Pete was taken aback to see Laura talking to Andy.

“I think you need to ask her,” Pete remarked, pointing to the small group of survivors. 

Recognising her from the bizarre dream-like state that Marcus had placed him in, Pete looked toward the Sandman to see if he too had noticed her. Not only had he noticed, but he was already on his way over to where she stood.

“Hey! Wait up!” Pete called chasing after him.

Remaining with Joe and Shoe, Donnie’s brow creased as he sensed the palpable tension between them.

“Perhaps you should help with the survivors, Donnie?” 

Donnie glanced at Shoe, the words were less of a suggestion and more of an instruction, almost an order. Not moving from the spot, Donnie received a frown from the man who had caused the destruction of the ship.

“Is there something wrong, Donnie?” Shoe asked politely.  
Donnie took a deep breath. “Yes, there is, but I don’t know what.”  
“I think Joe is a little shocked by what he’s seen,” Shoe replied, to Joe’s annoyance.  
“Not just what I’ve seen,” Joe frowned causing a confused Donnie to look between them for answers.   
“It’s to be expected,” Shoe replied calmly. “Now, might I suggest that we leave before the Guard arrive?”  
“Yeah,” Donnie nodded his agreement. “We don’t want to get held up being questioned when we should be looking for Silas and Patrick. I’ll get the others.” Donnie started towards the ship before turning. “Will we be lucky enough to leave before the Guard arrive?”  
“I believe we will,” Shoe smiled.  
“I’m wondering if you told us the truth,” Joe voiced his concerns.  
“About what?” Shoe asked, still unruffled, as he watched Donnie head for the others.  
“About why you were imprisoned,” Joe replied staring fiercely at his counterpart.  
“Rest assured, I told the truth about that. I’m not hiding anything from you, Joe.”  
“I hardly know anything about you, just what I’ve seen. And what I’ve seen is you murdering a dozen or more people! So you’ll excuse me if I don’t think you’ve told me everything!”  
“I may not have told you everything, but that’s not the same as hiding something.”  
“Then tell me!” Joe snapped. “How do you justify that?”  
“I doubt anything I say right now will settle your mind. I can only ask you to trust me.”  
“Donnie says we have to go. Laura knows where Patrick and Silas are!” Andy tapped Joe’s arm as he ran back. “You okay, Joe?” he asked as he saw the uneasy expression on his friend’s face.  
“Yeah... Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied after a moment’s pause. “Let’s go.”

*

“How am I going to pass myself off as Marcus?” Patrick’s brow creased as he drew up his knees and hugged them. “I don’t have any powers.”  
“I’ll help you,” Silas encouraged, “I can tell you all about the Dream World and how Marcus gestures for each of his powers, well, some of them anyway. Besides, it won’t matter if you get it wrong because they won’t know if you’ve got it right or not.”  
“Of course they’ll know!” Patrick cried incredulously.  
“How?” Silas replied with surprise. “Everyone has their own...”  
“Everyone will still be awake! That’s how!” Patrick retorted, trying hard to keep his voice low, but the surprise in his tone was still obvious. The biggest shock was the response that he received. Laughing, Silas shook his head.  
“You don’t honestly think they’ll let you actually prove yourself to be a Sandman do you?”  
“What do you mean?” Patrick replied, now thoroughly confused.  
“Well, they’re not going to let you put them to sleep are they? But you can still convince them you’re who they think you are.”  
“How?” Patrick asked.  
“What would Pete do?” Silas smiled.  
“Oh!” Patrick nodded. “Okay, I see, tell me everything you can.”

*

Closing the connection on the avstandball, the Captain of The Guard leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily with a combination of sadness and frustration.

“Joshua, don’t you think you have enough on your plate with being Ruler? Do you have to do this too? Can’t you appoint someone else to be Captain of The Guard?”  
“That’s not the problem,” he sighed again, his voice sounding weary and concerned.  
“What’s the matter?” the slender woman asked as she approached his chair. Gently massaging his broad shoulders, she frowned as her fingers worked on the knotted muscles and at the tension that had built up in them. “Are the boys all right? Henry’s looking after them, isn’t he? You made that more than clear to him. He is doing his job, isn’t he?”  
“My dear,” he scooped up one of her tiny hands in his; the difference in size was astonishing, her hands looking like a doll’s next to his.   
“What’s wrong?” Eleanor’s widened in panic. “What’s happened? Is it Marcus? Silas?”  
“Neither... Well, Silas, but for the moment it’s neither.”  
“I don’t understand,” pausing the massage, Eleanor rounded the chair in which her weary husband was sitting. “What’s going on, Joshua? What’s happening to my boys?”  
“Our boys, Ellie,” Joshua’s brow creased as he made the correction. “I’m worried too!”  
“I’m sorry, Joshua. I still don’t think I’ve got past the shock of coming back from vacation and finding the whole district asleep and Marcus gone!”  
“I know, Ellie,” he replied tiredly as he pulled her onto his lap hoping she would find comfort in their closeness. “Thank goodness Donnie had the presence of mind to leave a message to explain.”  
“When they’re back, I’m going to find some way to punish Marcus for going off on a crusade, virtually alone!”

Joshua chuckled to himself at her words, eliciting a scowl from his angry wife.

“Don’t look at me like that, Ellie,” he laughed again at her indignant expression. “You’ll never change him! You know how impetuous he is. He always has been! Besides, that’s actually the problem. He didn’t go off alone.”  
“No, I know. I said virtually; Donnie went with him.”  
“Well, it looks as though he did a bit of extra recruiting for the task,” Joshua replied evasively.  
“What do you mean?” Eleanor asked, unsure what her husband was referring to.  
“I mean, he went to Normal World to ask Patrick for help.”  
“Patrick?” Eleanor frowned in confusion. “How do you know?”  
“Because the slavers have captured him thinking he was Marcus. They must have thought the boys were twins.”  
“Patrick is at that woman’s home? And they think he’s Marcus?”  
“Yeah,” he sighed, distraught at the thought of what he now had to explain. “But erm... he won’t be able to withstand any torture. They’re not as strong as we are.”  
“What?” Eleanor paused as she took in the significance of his statement. “You mean you told him to torture Silas?” Eleanor gasped in disbelief.  
“I didn’t have any choice,” Lord Joshua and Captain of The Guard defended his decision. “He’d kill Patrick if he tortured him. You don’t want that do you?”  
“B… but… Joshua… my baby boy.”  
“Ellie… I’m sorry, I had no choice! I had to tell him to protect Patrick. Tell me you understand, please?” he begged, running his fingers lightly through her hair as she still sat across his lap.

Nodding stiffly, Eleanor was unable to find the words she needed without risking the flood of tears that she knew would follow. Sinking into her husband’s arms, she allowed him to comfort her as she began to cry anyway. Rocking her gently, Joshua thought about the severe punishments he would take great pleasure in handing out to the slavers and Lady Constance, unaware that Mr Crab had already dealt the severest bad luck to the slavers as part of his own personal revenge.

*

“No, it’s more of a flick,” Silas frowned his head cocked to one side as he watched Patrick make an intricate gesture with his hand with his fingers curled part way into his palm.  
“Silas, you told me it didn’t matter,” Patrick frowned as he began to learn about Marcus’ powers.  
“You’re right,” Silas nodded and rubbed his right eye. “You’ll need to know what powers he has more than anything.”  
“Yeah,” Patrick offered a crooked smile. “I can become adept at not being able to demonstrate any of them later.”

The smile was infectious. Silas’ mouth curled up in appreciation of the comment. He was quietly impressed at Patrick’s handling of the situation. They were both fighting for their lives, unaware that their friends knew where to find them, nor that they had at least one ally within the household. Silas nodded to himself, certain in the knowledge that they would do anything and everything they could to keep each other alive and try to escape – however slim a chance that seemed.

“Okay, the Dream World,” he began, pondering how to explain the paradox of its very existence. “The Dream World exists because people sleep, but it also exists in order that people are able to sleep.”  
Patrick raised an eyebrow. “You know that doesn’t make any sense, don’t you?”  
Silas nodded, ending with a shrug. “Yeah, it’s an impossibility and a curiosity over how it came into existence in the first place. I mean, if people didn’t sleep, why would they need the Dream World?”  
“And if they did sleep,” Patrick ventured. “How did they manage to if the Dream World didn’t exist?”  
“Exactly!” Silas grinned. “But it does and that’s all I can tell you on its origins.”  
“Okay – Dream World exists. Got it,” Patrick nodded firmly, taking a pragmatic view.  
“Marcus… well, he basically runs the Dream World and oversees everything that happens there. Most of his weavers and spinners have been there for millennia.”  
“Most?” Patrick queried.  
“There were some… er… let’s just say that some of them had to leave their positions. I think they were corrupt, from the time of Ruler Owen. Marcus didn’t know why at the time, but he knew they had to go.”  
“Sounds serious,” Patrick frowned at the evasive handling of the point.  
“It was. When we finally realised what they were up to, it was almost too late.”  
“What were they up to?” Patrick asked, drawn by the strange story.  
“They were supplying hate to my father’s Counsel. There’s no way they could have made enough themselves, even with so many of them, but the spinners created some more for them,” Silas explained.  
“How?” Patrick asked, puzzled over how hate could be grown.  
“The answer lies in the corruption. You don’t actually have to hate anyone to produce artificial hate, not if you have corruption and greed on your side. In fact, you’re well on the way to making a huge batch of it.”  
“You make it sound like a recipe,” Patrick commented with surprise.  
“That’s exactly what it is. It was weaker than real hate, but you can do a lot if you have enough of it!”  
“Okay, so he has new Spinners,” Patrick figuratively drew a line under the issue with the previous spinners and arrived at another stumbling block. “What do they do?”  
“Okay, this is important,” Silas nodded gravely. “Spinners create the constituent parts of dreams.”  
“How?” Patrick frowned.  
“It’s like… cloth. The spinners take the raw fabric and make the basic materials for the dream. So it would be like taking a chlad skin and making cheen.”

The expression on Patrick’s face told Silas that his Carouselian example was lost on the singer. Silas’ brow furrowed as he thought of a Normal World example.

“Like taking a fleece and making wool?” he smiled as Patrick’s face softened and he nodded his understanding.  
“And the Weavers take the constituent parts and make the dream?” Patrick ventured.  
“Exactly right!” Silas grinned. “Some are built to specification, others are much more freeform. But only the most experience weavers are allowed to do that.”  
“And Marcus?” Patrick queried.  
“He’s pretty adept at weaving… and spinning too, but... ah… as you may remember some of what he spins can go quite badly wrong.”  
“Sorry?” Patrick frowned, confused by the reference.  
“His own nightmare versions of himself,” Silas prompted.  
“They were spun?” Patrick frowned. “I thought they were actual nightmares.”  
“They were.”  
“So he made them beforehand?”  
“No, they came out of his nightmares,” Silas tried to explain, nut only managed to confuse Patrick further.  
“But… if they didn’t already exist, how could they be in a nightmare?”  
Silas smiled at Patrick’s lack of understanding, and trying hard not to seem to be laughing at him. “You can’t apply logic to nightmares, Patrick. They almost always work in reverse.”

Frowning, Patrick shook his head. The contradictions, paradoxes and uniquely convoluted logic defied explanation. Drawing the conclusion it was time to concede defeat, Patrick suggested they move on.

“Tell me about his powers.”  
“This is where it starts to get a little complicated,” Silas began only to be interrupted by a very frustrated Patrick.  
“Simplify!” he cried with a bleak expression settling on his face – more than a little lost by Silas’ explanations.


	12. Mr Crab is recognised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis and Laura know who Mr Crab is and Marcus hears a few unpleasant truths

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Laura told Pete as he and Marcus returned to the small group waiting some distance away from the ship. “I didn’t know you were a Normal Worlder.”  
“How does that make a difference?” Pete asked, uncertain whether or not to feel insulted.  
Laura smiled sympathetically. “Normal Worlders aren’t as strong as Carouselians... mentally that is.”

Pete pouted, now certain that he was insulted. On seeing his expression, Laura found herself back tracking.

“Maybe it’s not strength? Just different... maybe?”  
“Normal Worlders?” Francis asked as he drew closer. “You know, I never knew if that was real or not. How did you get here?”  
Marcus glanced back, a guilty expression fixed firmly on his face. “That would be me.”  
“We’ve been here before,” Pete explained as they reached Andy Joe and Shoe. “We just couldn’t get enough of the place,” he added sarcastically.

Joe narrowed his eyes as he noticed Shoe turn his back on the approaching group.

“What now?” he asked discreetly, but Shoe merely shook his head stiffly in reply.

Joe frowned. Mr Crab was behaving strangely and he was uncertain whether to trust him or tackle him about it, eliciting other opinions and comment. The expression on Shoe’s face was one of quiet pleading. It seemed almost as if he had read Joe’s troubled thoughts and was answering him. Joe sighed; paramount his thoughts was that Mr Crab had saved their lives on more than one occasion. But, he couldn’t ignore the fact that he had just murdered the entire crew of the slave ship. They were evil for what they had done to Silas and Patrick, certainly, but did that give Mr Crab the right to act as judge, jury and executioner? But he had to make a decision and, praying he wouldn’t regret it, he decided that he would trust him, for now, and hope that there was a genuine reason for his suspicious behaviour.

“Where did the other two guys go?” Andy asked as he looked at Laura and Francis, noticing that the Twins were nowhere to be seen.  
“Their clan lives only a couple of days sail from here, they wanted desperately to go home, but they asked me to thank you for their freedom.”  
“Why didn’t they want to say it themselves?” Andy asked, surprised that they should leave so quickly.  
“They saw a ship with the mark of their home district pulling back the gangplank. It was leaving now; they couldn’t risk missing it. This is a dangerous place and it could be weeks before another of their ships dropped anchor here. You’ll understand, I’m sure, they didn’t want to risk being captured by another group of slavers,” Laura explained, to be greeted by sympathetic nods.  
“Who do we thank?” Francis asked. “Who had the power to destroy the ship?”

It was only when the question was raised that Andy and Pete realised that the destruction had been caused by a member of their own party. Pete had already asked the question but now realised that Joe had prevaricated. Yes, it had been happening as he arrived, but that didn’t preclude the possibility that one of them was to blame. Neither did it mean that Joe didn’t know who it was. Turning accusing eyes towards the guitarist, Pete frowned with suspicion as he saw that Joe couldn’t even look at him, leaving him in no doubt that he knew exactly what had happened. Andy drew a similar conclusion and, assuming that it couldn’t be Donnie, looked directly at Shoe, who still had his back to the two ex-captives.

“Shoe?” Andy prompted. “Do you know what happened?”  
“Shoe?” Francis whispered to Laura.

Marcus frowned deeply, waving discreetly to Andy and Pete, trying hard to get them to stop the line of questioning. Mr Crab sighed and his shoulders sagged. He had sensed that Francis, if not Laura knew all about him; his secret was almost certainly about to be shared. Turning slowly, Mr Crab faced Laura and Francis and waited for the inevitable.

Francis stared open mouthed for a few moments before dropping to one knee and bowing low.

“Mr Crab, Your Reverence!”

Suddenly realising, from Francis’ response, exactly who had saved them, Laura also dropped to her knee and lowered her head.

“I’m sorry, Reverence, I didn’t recognise you.”

Pete and Andy exchanged brief glances before turning to Joe, only to realise that he was equally as puzzled. Even more so when they noticed Marcus alternately switching between standing straight and with his knees slightly bent. He looked awkward, like he felt he should kneel alongside Laura and Francis, but something was preventing him.

“Please don’t,” Shoe sighed, initially directing the comment to Marcus, making him feel even more uncomfortable than he had earlier. “Please stand,” he asked almost as if he were embarrassed himself.

Laura and Francis slowly looked up, surprised by the request. Mr Crab’s brow was creased and he seemed truly uncomfortable with the reaction.

“What’s going on?” Pete demanded. “Why are they calling you that?”

Francis stared at Pete in shock at his lack of respect for possibly the most powerful and legendary man in Carousel.

“Or more to the point,” Francis replied, “why aren’t you kneeling and showing your respect?”  
“What are you talking about? I have a lot of respect for Shoe, but I don’t...”  
“Shoe?” Francis almost choked on the name. “You can’t call him that!”  
“He told us to!” Pete’s brow creased. “Look, who the hell are you?”  
“The Hell?” Now it was Francis’ turn to look confused. “You mean ‘The Hills’?”  
Pete rubbed his temple in frustration. “Did I miss something while I was out? Shoe? Marcus?”  
“We should leave here,” Shoe advised, happy to change the subject even temporarily. “The Guard are on their way. Please, rise, there really is no need.”

Joe and Andy exchanged confused glances. The kneeling may not have been necessary, but one thing they were sure of, Shoe knew exactly why they were doing it and they were going to find out.

*

“And that...” Patrick pointed at the shimmering object in front of the barred door that had thrown him across the cell when he had touched it. “A maktval? That will stop any powers from leaving the cell. So I can rant and rave to my heart’s content and when nothing happens they won’t be at all suspicious?”  
“Ah... Well... I wouldn’t say nothing will happen,” Silas’ guilty expression looked so much like Marcus’ that Patrick could clearly see the family resemblance.  
“What, Silas? What aren’t you telling me?” Patrick pressed warily.  
“Well, the maktval has the same affect on you if you bounce a power off it as if you touch it.”  
Patrick glared, a deep frown on his face. “What would Pete do, he says. These are the powers Marcus might use, he says. Lose your temper, he says, fight back. Oh, yeah, and while you’re at it, throw yourself across the cell. Yeah, thanks, Silas, you left that tiny little detail out.”  
“Patrick, if we don’t convince these people that you’re Marcus, they’ll kill you and that’ll probably hurt a lot more than pretending the maktval just threw you across the cell and it’ll be considerably more permanent!”  
“Yeah,” Patrick sighed heavily. “You’re right, I’m sorry, you’re right.”  
“And we had better hope they don’t want a demonstration.”  
“What if they do?” Patrick asked, his brow creasing with concern.  
“You have to refuse, we don’t have a choice, do we?” Silas shrugged. “Marcus will find us.”  
“He’s not alone, the guys are with him and Donnie,” Patrick announced, to Silas’ surprise.  
“All of you!” Silas smiled in relief. “They’ll stop him doing something stupid!”

About to reply, Patrick turned his head, as did Silas, as the oiler door opened. Into the room, led by Henry, Lady Constance walked slowly but purposefully ahead of a small entourage of bodyguards.

Turning to look at each other, Silas and Patrick could only hope for the best.

“Be convincing, Patrick,” Silas whispered. “I have no powers, I can’t help you.”

Nodding, Patrick fixed a dark and furious expression on his face as he approached the barred door and prepared to give the performance of his life.

*

“So, what is the deal with people bowing to you?” Andy asked bluntly as they found shelter.  
   
As they looked on, Francis and Laura were mortified at the directness of the question. Donnie and Joe merely expressed interest. But when Pete turned his head to look at Marcus’ reaction, it was all too telling. Shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other and trying hard not to look anyone in the eye, especially Mr Crab himself, Marcus was the very picture of guilt.  
   
“You know, don’t you?” Pete asked in an accusatory tone.  
   
Marcus’ head snapped up sharply and he stared nervously at Pete, his lips parted as if he might speak but initially saying nothing.  
   
“Well?” Pete prompted when met with only silence.  
“I didn’t tell them!” Marcus blurted, turning a panicked expression towards Mr Crab.  
“Marcus, you are a renowned liar,” Mr Crab began only to be interrupted by the increasingly distressed Sandman.  
“No! Well, yes, I mean, I was… I’m trying to change… I really am. But I really didn’t tell them. Please believe me!”  
“Don’t try to change, Marcus. Do it,” Mr Crab advised.  
“Yes, I’m sorry… Please… Mr… I… I mean…” Marcus sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging.  
“I knew this would happen one day,” Donnie scolded. “You lie so much, Marcus. It was only a matter of time before you weren’t believed when you were actually telling the truth!”  
“You believe me?” Marcus asked, relieved but surprised.  
Donnie nodded. “I’ve known you a long time, Marcus, and I won’t pretend you haven’t lied to me, but I don’t think you’ve ever insisted that you were telling the truth after being caught out. You’re brash but you’re not brazen.”  
“I deserve that,” Marcus whispered, nodding. “I deserve worse than that, but I can’t change what I’ve done, just what I do now. I really didn’t say anything, Mr Crab.”  
“I know you didn’t tell them, Marcus,” Mr Crab spoke softly. “But I think you were ready to feel the backlash from your years of using people.”  
“I don’t really use people, do I?”  
“What do you honestly think, Marcus?” Mr Crab pressed.  
“It doesn’t make it right” Marcus look at his feet, “but I’ve only ever lied to get help for people.”  
“Because you didn’t think they’d want to help you if you told them the truth?” Mr Crab asked. “That’s a pretty poor opinion you seem to have of people.”  
“N… No! You don’t understand! It’s me! I have a poor opinion of myself, not others! I don’t believe I can explain things well enough to make people care enough to help me. That and...” Marcus paused as he gathered the courage to say what he was really thinking. “That I’m not worth helping.”  
“Marcus?” Donnie gasped. Something he had done or said earlier had sparked an inkling of the problem in his mind, but it had seemed unlikely even to be a possibility, let alone be confirmed.  
“Now then,” Mr Crab began, “that’s out in the open, we can move on. Yes, it’s true that I was one of the Originals, but the historians amongst you will know that I didn’t approve of bowing and kneeling even when we were all in existence. Rest assured, my opinion has not changed on that.”  
“And for those of us not from Carousel?” Pete asked, truly lost by the turn of the conversation.  
“As you guessed, I have already covered this with Marcus,” Mr Crab smiled. “I’ll tell you everything I told him.”

Pete made a mental note that Mr Crab was telling them only what they could find out from Marcus. Was he being deliberately evasive?

*

Patrick stood in the centre of the cell a determined expression fixed on his face. He had to get this right, for both their sakes. He didn’t know if Laura was telling the truth when she told Maxwell that Lady Constance didn’t believe that they were capturing a Benzedrine and a Sandman. She had got him off the hook with Maxwell and he had narrowly escaped almost certain death by an injection into his brain, but now it presented its own problems. If he couldn’t convince her that he was a Sandman, she almost certainly wouldn’t believe that Silas was a Benzedrine and she would assume that had been tricked by the now long gone slavers. They both stood a very real chance of being murdered if he couldn’t convince them he was a Sandman. Swallowing hard, his mouth so dry as to make the action of swallowing a painful one, Patrick took a deep breath.

 _What would Pete do?_   He reminded himself as he took a step forward.

“Hey!” he yelled angrily. “Who the Hills are you?” he added, thankful that he had remembered the curious phrase they used. “Let us out of here!”  
“Marcus!” Silas warned, convincingly worried as he stepped forward and took Patrick’s arm pretending to pull him back.  
“What do you want with us?” Patrick continued, shrugging out of Silas’ grip.  
“Silence!” Henry growled, but inside he was extremely confused over what was happening.

Working for The Guard, he was deep undercover as Lady Constance’s assistant. Under orders from the Captain of The Guard to protect the Benzedrine and Sandman when they arrived, Henry was happy to comply, believing the protection order was based purely on their status.  Realistically, that would have been more than enough, both positions being highly respected and regarded in all communities. Not for a moment did he realise that the true reason for the order was that they were the Captain’s sons. Now this new development was confusing him utterly. A Normal Worlder who looked exactly like the Benzedrine, passing himself off as his Sandman brother and the Benzedrine acting unsurprised by it all - as if it were the most natural thing in the world! It was baffling! But there was no time to think about it now.

“No!” Patrick yelled back. “You have no right to do this! Let us go!”  
“You’re so predictable! As I explained to your brother when he arrived,” Henry forced a smirk, “you are absolutely correct. We have no right to do this, but we’ve done it anyway and there’s nothing you can do to change that. This is your new mistress, Lady Constance Allandra… Kneel!” he ordered after a short pause. “Show your respect.”  
“I’m not kneeling for her or anyone!” Patrick yelled.  
“Marcus, please…” Silas begged. “Don’t argue with them! They’ll hurt you!”  
“Listen to your brother, Sandman,” Lady Constance chuckled cruelly. “We can hurt you more than you realise!”  
“Not if I hurt you first!” Patrick growled raising his right hand.  
“No!” Silas reached out, pretending to try to stop Patrick making the gesture.

Apparently too late to stop him, Silas’ eyes widened in horror as Patrick flicked his wrist, ending with an intricate symbol drawn in the air with his fingers. Of course, nothing happened, but almost immediately Patrick flung himself backwards as if a surge of power had rebounded off the maktval and hit him squarely in the chest. Lying on the floor groaning, Patrick watched Silas through half open eyes, taking his lead as to when it was acceptable to seem to recover from the supposed power bounce-back. Pushing himself roughly upright, Patrick frowned as he noticed Lady Constance smirking, apparently satisfied that he was, indeed, Marcus J Sandman.

Silas now knelt at Patrick’s side with his back to the bars. Despite the seriousness of their situation, he couldn’t help but smile; if they had known what Marcus’ personality was actually like, they would still have been convinced it was him!  
   
“Marcus?” he called softly. “Are you okay?”  
 ”I’m okay,” Patrick groaned convincingly in reply.

Even as he did, they both heard a sudden swooshing noise followed by the scrape of metal as the maktval was disabled and the barred door slid to one side.  
   
Standing sharply, surprised by their entry into the cell, Silas’ eyes opened wide in alarm; scared that they might actually ask for a proper demonstration from Patrick. Before Patrick even had time to try to get up from the floor of the cell, strong hands had already seized his arms and were dragging him to his feet. As he looked behind him he saw Silas struggling in an equally firm grip.  
   
“Be still!” Henry ordered gruffly before adding in a mocking tone. “And you just might survive the night.”  
   
Silas, essentially a pragmatist, was more than aware of his chances of escape from the pair of trained and strong bodyguards now holding him in check. Even without the threat that Henry had uttered, he knew that slim to none roughly covered it. Deciding to conserve his strength for a more opportune moment, he stilled his exertions immediately, before turning concerned eyes to Patrick. Even though he knew it was dangerous, true to character, Patrick continued to fight against the two muscular and tall men holding him. There was never any chance in his mind that he would escape them, but he had to at least appear to try.  
   
“Mar…” Silas began only to cut himself off sharply as he was pushed viciously to his knees and one side of what appeared to be a metal clamp was pressed to his right temple. Recognising the device and realising with abject terror what was happening to him, he renewed his struggles once more, but held firmly by two men with a third applying the device, he knew it was pointless. “Marcus!” he screamed. “Please stop!”  
   
Patrick turned, halting his attempts to break free in an instant and merely standing staring, bewildered by what he saw. Only feet away, Silas was kneeling, held down at his shoulders with his hands behind him and staring up at him, trembling slightly, but visibly; clearly terrified.  
   
“Now then, Sandman,” Lady Constance stepped forward. “Henry, here, is something of an expert in torture. He has never failed me before and I have no doubt that I’ll get exactly what I want now.”  
“And what do you want?” Patrick asked trying hard to keep his voice steady.  
“Straight to the point, I like that,” she smirked. “Henry tells me that the best way to get brothers to cooperate is to threaten the other. Do you recognise this device?”

She waved a hand airily in the direction of Silas’ head and the apparatus clamped to his temples. From the expression of Silas’ face, Patrick knew that it was something fearful, something that would induce a great deal of pain or even worse. Shaking his head grimly Patrick said nothing.

“Well, never mind, you’ll find out soon enough,” she smiled. “Now then, when your brother is functional again, you will assist me.”  
“No we won’t,” Patrick replied bluntly, angry at the use of the word ‘functional’.

At the reply, Henry turned a dial on a small handheld control box and waited for the response.

“Silas!” Patrick cried in alarm, turning his gaze between the stricken Benzedrine and Henry. “What are you doing to him? Stop it!”

Still kneeling, Silas gasped in pain, occasionally crying out through gritted teeth as pulses of electricity coursed through his temples. The effect was to simulate him using his powers, causing the doxicodin governor, still active in his body, to constrict around the nerves in his brain. The release of unconsciousness would normally follow swiftly behind, but the electric pulses had a second effect - they were preventing him from passing out.

As a doctor, he had seen similar, but much smaller, devices. They were used to maintain a minimum level of brain activity and were used to help coma victims regain consciousness. But this equipment had been taken several stages further and was now being used as an instrument of torture.

Gasping for breath as the nerves in his brain were repeatedly crushed by the constant contractions of the injected governor, tears dampened his lashes as he alternately tensed and slumped in the bodyguards’ grip.

“No!” Patrick screamed, struggling once more, desperate to get the controls from Henry. “Stop it! Let him go!” he begged.

Turning the dial to the zero position once more, Henry watched with inner relief as Silas hung breathless and limp in the guards grip.

“You will help us,” Lady Constance insisted. “You don’t have a choice, unless you want to see the Benzedrine tortured to death.”  
“You won’t,” Patrick argued, trying not to appear devastated by the torture they were inflicting on Silas. “You need us both.”  
“That’s where you’re wrong,” she offered a superior smirk. “I only need you, the Benzedrine is here only as leverage to force you.”  
“No,” Patrick shook his head, remembering an earlier conversation with Silas. “You want me to put people to sleep while you steal from people, then Silas to wake them up.”

Lady Constance gave a musical but condescending laugh and she shook her head. Patrick frowned at her, leaving him wondering what it was that she found so amusing.

“I have amassed a large enough fortune, but, you’re right, it was obtained illegally. I’m wealthy enough, but I intend to enjoy it. My spies tell me that The Guard are trying very hard to close in on me and I cannot have that. The Captain of The Guard is a very clever man…”

Silas looked up at the mention of the name and Patrick gasped to see how pale and weak he looked.

“… and he is determined to arrest me,” Lady Constance continued, oblivious to Silas’ reaction. “But I am equally determined. I was delighted to hear that slavers had captured the Benzedrine for The Hills. And the news that Ruler Joshua, Captain of The Guard and thorn in my side would be trapped in a deep sleep was music to my ears. But then, of course, I heard that he and his irritating consort were on vacation and returned the only ones still awake! But you will correct that. You will put them to sleep and I will have them both killed.”  
“No!” Silas screamed in alarm, turning terrified eyes towards her and renewing his determination to get free.

Turning the dial quickly, Henry bit his lip to stop himself reacting to the agonising series of screams coming from the now severely weakened Silas. Like Lady Constance, Henry was unaware that Ruler Joshua, known as The Guv’nor, was Silas and Marcus’ father, but the fact that he was ordered to protect them at all costs and now the horrified reaction had combined to raise questions in his mind over their relationship. Now it was important to stop the pair giving anything else away – they were in enough danger as it was!

With renewed strength born of the horror of Silas’ torture and Lady Constance’s plans to kill Silas and Marcus’ parents, Patrick finally pulled one arm free and he reached out towards Henry.

Patrick was dumbstruck as Henry sudden propelled backwards, falling heavily to the floor with the control device, still in his hand, slamming to the floor and breaking into several pieces. Instantly, Silas sagged in the bodyguards’ grip, before slumping forward to the floor, unconscious.

“His hand!” Lady Constance shouted in panic. “Do something before he puts us all to sleep!”

Expecting them to simply grab his hand once more, Patrick was ready to fight and take advantage of their fear of him. But instead, a wave of pain washed over him as he was struck from behind. Slipping to the floor alongside Silas, Patrick was still barely conscious as they hurried from the cell and slid the maktval back into place.

“Henry? Are you hurt?” Lady Constance asked as he pushed himself from the floor.  
“No, my lady, I’m fine,” he replied shakily.  
“You!” Lady Constance turned a harsh glare on the bodyguard that had been holding Patrick’s right arm. “Get out, you’re fired.”

Not even stopping to watch the man leave, lady Constance turned back to her assistant.

“Are you certain, Henry?” she asked softly.  
“Yes, My Lady, but I’m concerned. You must tell me about your spies, if I’m to keep you safe, I must know everything.”  
“Of course,” she nodded to his relief, “follow me to my study.”


	13. With a Little Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr Crab dispenses some luck to remove the governors on Francis and Silas's powers and Henry's real identity is revealed.

"Sir?"  
"Yes, what is it, Robert?"

Ruler Joshua sighed as his spy, posing as Lady Constance's assistant, Henry Samanera, contacted him once more. The last time they had spoken, Joshua had all but ordered him to torture his son. Knowing that Patrick was, for reasons as yet not understood, posing as his other son, Marcus Sandman, he also knew that there was no way he could possibly survive the torture that Samanera would be expected to inflict. Asking his spy to make Silas suffer in his place had crushed his spirit. Worse still, he had silently watched as his wife, Eleanor, wept most of the night at the thought of their youngest being tortured. He had tried to comfort her, but when pushed away, he not only understood her reaction, but had no doubt that he deserved it. The pair had spent a miserable evening imagining the worst and it had now left him subdued and depressed.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I have to ask you something..."  
"Yes?" Joshua asked, his tone still reflecting his sorrow.

It didn't go unnoticed by Robert. He was used to being scared of his superior, to almost be trembling with uncertainty and fear. But now, he almost felt the need to comfort him. It gave him the confidence to go ahead with his line of questioning.

"Doctor Benzedrine, Sir..." he paused as he tried to find the right words.  
"Is he...? He's not hurt badly, is he?" Joshua asked urgently.  
"He's..." Posing as Henry, Robert had left him alive but unconscious in the cell knowing he had suffered terribly at his hands, but the Captain's reaction had served only to confirm his belief that they were related.  
"How is he?" Joshua demanded, the harshness in his voice returning somewhat as he waiting what felt a painfully long time for the reply.  
"Is he your son?"

Joshua let out a surprised sigh as he heard the question.

"How dare you ask that!"

Robert didn't feel scared by the rebuke; it had emerged in a half-hearted attempt at anger and it seemed as though the Captain simply lacked the energy to deny it.

"I dare, Sir, because I need to know," he replied almost sternly. "If I'm to protect them properly, I need to know everything."  
"Yes," Joshua nodded. "You're right. I should have told you, but I didn't want you behaving differently towards them."  
"I understand how difficult this must be for you, Sir, but..."  
"No, you don't know," he corrected without malice.  
"Sir, I just meant..."  
"I know what you meant, Robert and, don't misunderstand me, I appreciate the efforts you're making to ensure their safety, but this is not a situation easily imagined. Trust me. Never in my wildest dreams, and believe me, with an angry Sandman for a son, I've had some pretty wild dreams, but I never imagined anything as terrible as this. Is he... Doctor Benzedrine, is he all right?"  
"I left them unconscious but very much alive and quite well, Sir," Robert confirmed.  
"Them?" Joshua frowned. "You tortured them both? I said..."  
"No, Sir!" Robert cut in quickly. "The Normal Worlder put on quite a show as Mister Sandman. He got a hand loose and they were terrified of him. They only knocked him out."  
Joshua smiled faintly. "His name's Patrick," he went on to explain. "He's a friend of both my boys. Robert... Not a word of this to anyone, even after it's resolved."  
"Of course, Sir."  
"Now, tell me, how did you know?"  
"A combination of things, really. Your orders struck me as strange, but the thing that really settled it was his reaction."  
"His reaction to what?" Joshua asked, a deep frown forming on his tired face.  
"Captain, I was coming to that. You and the Lady Eleanor are the targets. She plans to kill you both."  
"Does she now?" Joshua's lip curled into a defiant sneer. "And how does she plan to do that? Everyone may be asleep, but I'm not exactly defenceless here."  
"You would be if you were asleep too," Robert corrected.  
"She wants Mister Sandman to put us to sleep?"  
"Yes, Sir. One more detail, it's not enough for her to kill you. She told me just now that she wants to be there when Doctor Benzedrine wakes you. She wants you and the Lady Eleanor awake when she kills you."  
"Does she know that Doctor Benzedrine and Mister Sandman are my sons?"  
"No, Sir, but if Doctor Benzedrine keeps reacting to her plans, she will guess."  
"It's time to reel in our fish, Robert." Joshua smiled an unnervingly cold smile. "Ask our stand-in Sandman to put us all asleep. Tell him the truth if you have to. I can't wait to see the look on Allandra's face when she marches straight into a trap.

*

Having retreated once more to the relative safety of the wasteland behind the warehouse, Mr Crab had resigned himself to explaining who he was to yet more people. It was only when Pete spoke up at the end of his tale, that he realised that it wouldn't be quite so straightforward as it had been when he told Marcus.

"So, you've told us everything you told Marcus?" Pete asked bluntly.  
"Yes, I told you I would," Shoe nodded, his voice even and quiet.  
"Yes, you were very specific about that," Pete frowned. "Only the things we could have found out from Marcus anyway. We don't even know if it's the truth, only that it's the same."  
"Pete!" Marcus was horrified. That he should question Mr Crab was bad enough, but accuse him? It was unthinkable!

A faint smile appeared on Shoes's lips as he stared at Pete, waiting for any other comments, either from Pete or the rest of the group.

"As it stands, Pete, I have told you a great deal more about me than you have told me about yourself, but I'm satisfied with that."

Pete felt uncomfortable, as if all eyes were on him and some of those eyes were accompanied by harsh and angry expressions. He had no choice but to stand his ground.

"Yes, but I didn't just kill a ship full of people."  
"They were slavers," Shoe reasoned. "They took and hurt your friends. Don't you care about that?"  
"Of course I care! Don't twist this, you know exactly what I mean! You murdered them!" Pete looked around frantically. "Doesn't anyone else think what he did was wrong?"  
"I do," Joe finally admitted, unable to raise his eyes to look at either his counterpart or Pete.  
"Well, you weren't locked up in the hold of that ship for years were you?" Laura snapped harshly.  
"No," Joe agreed. "I guess that would give you a different perspective. But, it wasn't his perspective, was it?"  
"Joe, you know more about me than to make a comment like that. I wasn't in the hold of that ship, but you do know that I've had my own share of unjust imprisonment and for much longer than a few years."  
"How do we know it was unjust?" Pete demanded.  
"How can you behave like this?" Francis shouted, angry at their interrogation of him. "He's Mr H Shoe Crab! One of the Originals! He's the reason any of us have powers in the first place! He's a good man!"  
"Thank you, Francis, but please, this really isn't the place to be discussing this. Es Galleons is a dangerous place..."  
"Not for you," Pete snapped. "If anyone threatens you, you'd just kill them."  
"No, Pete, I wouldn't," Shoe corrected, but without elaborating further.  
"This isn't getting us to Patrick or Silas!" Marcus cut in, reminding them of their immediate task.  
Pete dropped his head. "No, you're right, sorry. I know where they are."  
"So do I," Laura added. "They're in Ceramistten and I know how to get there."

*

"Silas?"

Patrick tried again. It had been hours since Silas had passed out and since then, the Benzedrine hadn't even stirred. He had, in the last hour or so, managed to regain a little colour in his cheeks but even through what remained of his make up, Patrick could see that he remained unusually pale.

"Silas? Are you okay?"  
"Never been better," the slurred voice deadpanned.  
"Silas! You're awake!" Patrick cried with relief.  
"Yeah, and with the headache from Underverden, so..."  
"I'm sorry," Patrick whispered as he helped Silas to sit upright.

Still with his eyes closed, Silas shook his head and patted Patrick's arm reassuringly. Sighing with relief as he rested his aching back against the wall, Silas raised a smile and half opened his eyes.

"What was that?" Patrick asked with a frown of concern.  
"What? That device they used on me?"  
Patrick nodded grimly. "She asked me if I knew what it was. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to or not."  
"No," Silas shook his head and groaned at the movement, regretting it instantly. "if you worked at my hospital, you might have seen a much smaller version. Technically, it's a Vinkskaper. They're used on coma patients to bring them out of it."  
"That! Used on coma patients?"  
"Patrick," Silas frowned and closed his eyes tightly. "You're getting louder again."  
"Sorry," Patrick resumed whispering. "But, do you really..."  
"I said they're much smaller, but they're not meant to be painful. That one was, purely because it simulates me using my powers so the governor kicked in."

As he said the words, Silas paled still further.

"Silas? What's wrong?" Patrick almost paled with him, his heart sinking at the sight of his friend in so much pain.  
"She's going to kill my parents, Patrick! We've got to get out of here!"  
"Silas, I can't put them to sleep, they'll still be awake when they get there."  
"But everyone will be asleep still, they won't be expecting an attack. She'll surprise them! Even with The Guard, they... Patrick, we have to escape. I can't let this happen!"  
Taking Silas' arms in a desperate attempt to calm him, Patrick nodded slowly. "We'll escape, somehow, I promise you, they won't hurt them."  
"But..."  
"I promise you, Silas, we'll get out of here. But now, you need to rest," Patrick again nodded for emphasis. "Get your strength back, yes?"

Silas nodded and leaned back once more against the wall, exhausted and drained. It was only moments later that Patrick noticed that Silas was asleep once more. Pushing himself to his feet, Patrick drew in a deep breath.

"Okay, so you've made a promise." Patrick shook his head slowly in disbelief as he stared at the barred door and maktval. "How the hell are you going to keep it?"

*

“Ceramistten’s not far from here, we could get there before it gets dark.” Marcus mused aloud before looking around the group for their opinions.  
“When we do, I think we need to allow some time for sleeping,” Shoe advised, looking around at Pete, Joe and Andy, all of whom appeared exhausted.  
“I’m fine,” Pete grumbled.  
“Clearly you’re not,” Shoe corrected.  
“No, we’re not, you’re right,” Andy agreed, but was immediately interrupted before he could say any more.  
“Andy! We’re fine!” Pete insisted.  
“I was going to say,” Andy began in a slow, almost irritable tone, “we’re not fine, but we don’t have time to stop. I was going to ask if Marcus could do something to stop us needing to sleep?”

Francis and Laura openly chuckled whilst Donnie turned his head so not to be seen to laugh. Raising an eyebrow, Marcus held back his amusement - it wasn’t their fault they didn’t understand.

“I can’t, I’m a Sandman, not a Benzedrine. Sleep, sleep and some more sleep, that’s my job. If I could wake people up, I’d have woken the people in The Hills.”

Aware that all eyes were on him, either laughing or stifling their amusement, Andy felt foolish and, mostly due to extreme tiredness, more than a little irritable.

“Look, I don’t know anything about this world, I don’t think it’s unreasonable that…” he began, only to be interrupted.  
“No, you’re right, I’m sorry,” Francis cut in. “I shouldn’t have laughed. There’s no reason why you should know these things and if you don’t ask, you might miss a possibility.”  
“Yeah,” Andy muttered, grateful for the understanding but still feeling awkward.  
“And I think I might be able to help… possibly.”  
“How?” Joe asked; certainly any improvement on their situation was worth a try.  
“My power is an ability to… remove things,” he tried to explain.  
“Remove things?” Joe brow furrowed in confusion. “You mean, like steal?”  
“That’s a power?” Pete queried in disbelief.  
“No,” Francis shook his head. “It’s hard to explain. I’m…”  
“You’re a Renderer?” Donnie raised his eyebrows in surprise and smiled as Francis nodded. “I’ve never met a Renderer before.”  
“Well, what do you know? There’s a first time for everything,” Pete folded his arms and waited, staring purposefully.  
“A Renderer extracts things from people or objects,” Donnie began to explain. “From an object, maybe a lost book from a shelf, precious metal from a rock or from a person, maybe a memory, or a virus…”  
“Or all their fluids leaving just dust?” Laura added, remembering what had happened to Martha.

Francis turned sharply, his eyes wide, worried about her reaction. His intention had been to protect her, but it had been done out of anger and he hadn’t given much, if any, thought to how she would react. It seemed it was time for him to find out and he found himself unusually concerned.

“She was tracking the Sandman. Threatening and hurting you. I… I wanted to protect you,” Francis explained. “I’d been so wrong, I couldn’t let her keep hurting you, you’d suffered enough.”  
“Thank you,” Laura blushed, surprised by the admission.  
“I learned a lot about understanding and forgiveness from the Benzedrine. I can help by removing the need to sleep from the Normal Worlders.”  
“But the governor?” Laura queried. “They renewed it before the ship was destroyed. You can’t use your powers.”  
Shoe looked up with a knowing smile. “Ask.”  
“Mr Crab, your Reverence, with luck, the governor will disperse and I can use my powers. Will you grant me that?”  
“Use your powers,” Shoe nodded with a smile; it felt good to be granting luck again after so long trapped inside a dream.

A sudden feeling of renewed vigour washed over the three friends, with each of them feeling more alive and refreshed than if they had slept for an entire month.

“Woah!” Joe exclaimed. “That’s freaky! We will still be able to sleep when we get back home… yeah?”  
“You can sleep now, if you want to. I’ve simply removed the need, not the ability. But, yes, everything will return to normal when you go back home, or sooner if you prefer. You only have to want it.”  
“Why just us?” Andy asked, a little confused. “Okay, I get that Marcus doesn’t sleep, but what about the rest of you?”  
“Everyone’s out of their districts,” Donnie explained. “Their Sandmen put their district to sleep but it doesn’t affect you if you’re outside the area. And,” Donnie smiled, “obviously my Sandman isn’t putting me to sleep,” he nodded towards Marcus for emphasis.  
“So you don’t sleep unless your own Sandman puts you to sleep?” Andy felt even more puzzled than he had started.  
“Oh, no, we can tune in to another Sandman, but if we don’t, we stay awake.”  
“But don’t you need to sleep?” Joe pressed, his sudden alertness still amazing him.  
Donnie frowned as he thought about it, unable to explain why. “Not really, no.”  
“Eventually, it will take its toll,” Marcus added. “But they won’t really feel it coming? But it’s like me, they can sleep, but they just won’t. If it becomes necessary, Francis, would you remove their need too?”  
“Of course,” Francis nodded.  
“Wait a minute,” Marcus was somehow managing to frown and appear hopeful at the same time as something occurred to him very suddenly. Turning to face Mister Crab, he began again, slowly and hopefully. “If you can override Francis’ governor, can you do the same thing for Silas? I know he’s much further away and…”  
“Ask,” Shoe cut in.  
“Really?” Marcus’ face lit up with joy at the idea that Silas would be able to protect himself to some extent. “Mr Crab, with luck, Silas will be able to use his powers without any pain or restriction. Would you grant that, please?”  
“Granted,” Shoe smiled.  
“But how will he know?” Marcus frowned unhappily.  
“With luck, he’ll discover it very quickly,” Shoe replied; a knowing smile fixed on his face.  
“How soon can we get there? We have to go now!” Marcus cried, elated at the news.  
“Please tell me, it’s walkable,” Pete sighed, dreading another fall through the skies of Carousel.  
“No,” Donnie shook his head, “but a very short Jerren ride away.”  
“I saw a station on this map, I’m sure,” Marcus added excitedly fishing the map from one of his coat’s deep pockets. “They’re going to be okay, aren’t they?” he added, his tone a mixture of excitement and hope - it was infectious.

*

“Patrick?”

Silas spoke quietly; he had just woken and appeared not to have noticed that the singer curled up on the floor next to him had fallen into a deep sleep.

Earlier in the day, Patrick had practically ordered Silas to rest and recuperate. Despite being fearful for his family, he hadn’t needed much convincing. Realistically, he knew that the oversized Vinkskaper used on him as a torture divide, had left him weak and in a great deal of pain. He had no sooner closed his eyes than he was asleep. Usually it would take a few minutes for his body to adjust to the idea of, what was effectively, a total shutdown, but he had drifted off in a matter of moments. Being a Benzedrine meant that sleep, or at least what he considered to be sleep, was quite alien to him and his body would normally need to be convinced to sleep. When he did, it was always a dreamless affair, and in reality, shutdown described it best. He wouldn’t usually feel refreshed after a sleep as it was unnecessary to him, but this time he did. Using the time to concentrate solely on repairing the damage done to him by Lady Constance, he woke feeling again much more like his usual, slightly serious, but optimistic self.

He had no idea how long he had been resting but by the time he woke, Patrick had fallen asleep. A cursory scan now revealed that he was in a deep sleep, his eyes flickering as he sunk deeper into the dream or nightmare - Silas couldn’t tell.

Reaching forward tentatively, Silas waved his fingers over Patrick’s eyes. Holding his breath and biting his lower lip, Silas paused as he saw Patrick’s eyes flutter open. Releasing his breath and smiling broadly as he felt no pain in reaction to him using his powers, he beamed at Patrick who merely stared blankly up.

“Silas,” Patrick began, as he gathered his bearings. “How are you feeling?”  
“I can use my powers,” he replied excitedly, but keeping his voice low in case overheard.

Patrick pushed himself upright, his lips curling to mirror Silas’ happy smile.

“You’re sure? No pain?” he asked as he searched Silas’ expression for answers.  
“I just woke you up!” he chuckled before adding in a more serious tone. “Sorry about that, by the way.”  
“Don’t be,” Patrick shook his head, “I was having the worst nightmare! Besides, this is amazing news! How did you know?”  
“I don’t know,” Silas shrugged. “I just knew when I woke. But I can get us out of here!”  
“If not both of us, at least yourself,” Patrick suggested.  
“No!” Silas frowned deeply. “You won’t survive what they’d do to you if I left you with them. It’s both of us, or just you. If it’s just you, Patrick, will you promise me you’ll warn my family?”  
“I would, but I won’t have to, we’ll both escape.”

Patrick’s statement brought Silas’ smile rushing back to his face. How Patrick was managing to maintain such a positive outlook was truly beyond him, but he knew that he appreciated and relied on it heavily.

“We’ll escape, warn your family and your testimony will have Lady Constance… What will happen?” Patrick asked, suddenly realising that he had no idea of their justice system.  
“Penal camp for five years doing hard labour then death,” Silas explained simply.  
“Oh!” Patrick replied surprised by the tone of the reply.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t familiar with a death penalty; most of the US still had the death penalty in one form or another, but somehow, the matter of fact phrasing of so final a punishment seemed so out of place on the lips of a man that looked exactly like him.

“I appreciate that it’s probably different in your world,” Silas nodded, “but things are different here. That’s the most extreme punishment we have but… Well, she dealt with black-marketeers, effectively abducted us, held us prisoner, tortured me and threatened my family.”  
Patrick nodded. “You don’t need to justify it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's reading this, I hope you're enjoying it. Please leave comments if you do like it though - it does help to know what works and what doesn't.   
> Special thanks to Lindsey - glad you're enjoying it! Sas xo


	14. “Kill the one called Patrick.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry explains who he is to Patrick and Silas, but has he blown his cover? And more importantly, has he been given an impossible task?

“Where is he?” Henry demanded as he approached the bars of Patrick and Silas’ cell. “Where is he?” he repeated, as he looked frantically around the cell.  
“It doesn’t matter how many times you say that, he’s not going to suddenly appear,” Patrick explained slowly with a slight smirk fixed on his face. He knew he had to be careful; after what this man had done to Silas, he didn’t want to provoke him, but something about the expression on Henry’s face told Patrick that he could push just a little more. “Man! Are you ever gonna be in trouble!”

Henry sighed heavily. Flopping his arm onto the bars, being careful not to touch the maktval, he rested his head against it, sighing again in frustration. Patrick gave a confused frown; this was most definitely something he had not expected and he was at a loss as to how to react. It was as if the man he knew as Henry had two very distinct personalities, but he was about to discover just how close to the truth his thoughts were.

“You have to tell me where he is,” Henry looked up before lowering his arm and noticing Patrick’s completely bewildered expression. “His father’s life may depend on it.”

Henry thought, for the briefest of moments, that he heard a gasp. Perhaps he even saw a flash of yellow out of the corner of his eye, but in moments it was forgotten.

“His father?” Patrick asked with uncertainty.  
“My Lord Joshua, Ruler of Carousel.” Henry paused for a moment as Patrick stared, initially unable to find any words to reply.   
“W… what?” Patrick finally stammered, confused and heavily distracted by the sight of Silas pacing the cell in sharp jerky movements, unsure whether or not to show himself. Occasionally, he would stare meaningfully at Patrick, occasionally gesturing with his hands, silently begging him to ask more questions. “What makes you think that Ruler Joshua is our father?” Patrick replied carefully, still maintaining the pretence that he was Silas’ brother.  
Henry smiled kindly. “No, Patrick, just his father. I know; I work for him, my name is Robert Sergeant, I’m with the Guard, working undercover.”

Patrick’s jaw dropped at the mention of his name and instantly Silas made himself visible to Henry.

“He… he’s all right, isn’t he?” Silas asked, rushing to the bars; his voice urgent and concerned. “And, mother? Ah… The Lady Eleanor?”  
“Ruler Joshua and the Lady Eleanor are both very well and I intend to keep them that way, but Lord Joshua wants to arrest Lady Constance, I’ve been undercover now for almost a year. This is our best chance yet… but I need your help.”  
“What do you need?” Silas pressed urgently. “I’ll do anything.”  
“Actually, I need Patrick’s help,” he explained.  
“Mine?” Patrick placed a hand to his chest for emphasis and gave a puzzled frown. “What can I do?”  
“I need you to pretend to send them to sleep.”

Silas frowned deeply, believing he could see where the man’s plans were heading. 

“You’re going to put them in danger aren’t you?” he questioned with concern.  
“No, they…”  
“You’re going to take Lady Constance to him under the belief he’s asleep but even if he’s not… I mean, how many guards does she have? Everyone else is asleep, he has no… No, wait, I can wake them, I can wake everyone! They’ll be well protected!”  
“No, Lady Constance has spies everywhere, she’ll know as soon as you’ve done it.”  
“What will it matter? And it’ll send a message to my family that I’m all right.”  
“I’ve already told them and they’ll be a lot safer if we just stick to the plan.”  
“But they’ve been asleep for days!”  
“No! You can’t!”  
“What can’t he do, Henry?” Lady Constance’s voice rang out from the doorway. 

Unable to see the door in the L shaped room, Henry cringed and silently cursed himself for not having thought about the possibility that anyone could simply walk in on him. And they had. And not just anyone – Lady Constance herself.

“You seemed very concerned. What were you concerned about?”

Uncertain over how much of the conversation she had overheard, he could only hope for the best.

“No, My Lady! I was worried, but only momentarily. The Benzedrine is functioning again. I was afraid your plans would fail because he was planning to wake his district. But of course, now I realise that with the maktval in place, he can’t do anything.”  
“That’s very true,” Allandra entered the room gracefully, wearing a long red gown. “So, the Benzedrine has his powers back does he? Isn’t it a little soon for the governor to be wearing off? I thought you said it would be several days, Henry?”  
“Yes, my lady… perhaps the slavers lied about when they gave it to him?”  
“It’s unlikely,” she replied curtly.  
“The vinkskapper,” Silas sighed. “It triggers the compound, but at the same time it breaks it down,” he lied with a plausible sounding explanation.  
“That’s very helpful of you to explain,” Lady Constance raised an eyebrow in surprise.  
“Does it matter?” Silas scowled. “It doesn’t help you at all… except to tell you that you’re playing with toys you don’t understand.”  
“I understand that I can use it to kill you,” she replied coldly, narrowing her eyes, prompting Patrick to move protectively closer to Silas.  
“Oh, how sweet,” she laughed at the gesture. “So, now you’re both functioning, I can put my plan into action.”  
“I don’t see how,” Patrick replied defiantly. “As soon as you remove the maktval, I’ll just put you both to sleep!”

Lady Constance smiled and shook her head pityingly.

“Foolish boy! Do you really believe I’m not prepared?”

Both Patrick and Silas frowned as they shared a nervous glance. Something about her expression told them that they would not enjoy what was about to happen to them.

“Henry, fill the chamber. I think it’s about time our guests got some sleep, don’t you?”

Pressing a button on the panel to the right of the cell, Henry gave an almost imperceptible nod towards Silas.

Hidden jets fired into action, pumping at great speed, a yellowish tinged fog into the room. Patrick’s eyes widened as he stepped quickly to the left as a blast of the vapour hit his ankle.

“What is it?” Patrick cried as the gas rose quickly, filling the room to waist height and climbing.  
“I don’t know,” Silas cried in reply.  
“Oh, come now, Doctor,” she chuckled. “You really don’t know?”

Silas looked over to her gloating expression, only then realising the purpose of Henry’s discreet nod to him. He could already see Patrick succumbing; his knees buckled as a coughing fit hit him. To steady himself, Patrick took a step forward, not realising how close he was to the maktval. Hitting it only with his arm, Patrick was propelled back against the far wall. Awake enough only for his face to register the pain of the collision, Patrick slipped to the floor, unconscious.

“Marcus!” Silas called, remembering to use his brother’s name despite his mind being fogged by the gas. 

Struggling to take the steps needed to get to his side, Silas fell awkwardly to his knees as the gas enveloped him, slumping forward before dropping silently to the floor.

“Now then,” Lady Constance smiled as three guards entered the room. “Henry, or should I say, Robert?”

Henry’s eyes widened as he saw his escape routes cut off and Lady Constance eyeing him with an evil glint in her eye.

“You heard that?” his voice shook with disbelief. “No… No, my Lady, that’s just something I told them to try to gain their trust. So I could make them do what I want.”  
“Is that so?” Allandra shook her head. “Then tell me, who is Patrick?”  
“I walked in on them talking, they couldn’t see me, just as I didn’t see you. I realised that he isn’t a Sandman, neither is he the Benzedrine’s brother, yet they keep talking and acting as though he is. Clearly they know each other, but I’m trying to find the connection and why they look alike. But to do that, I have to gain their trust and the only way to do that is to pretend to be on their side!”  
“Do you have anything else to say?”  
“Yes,” he replied with an evil gleam that matched her own. “Something the slavers didn’t know. We have a prince on our hands.”  
“Yes, I heard that too,” she smiled. “Ruler Joshua’s son, this is even better than expected. Now, what to do about you?”

Picking up on an almost regretful tone, and remembering how concerned she had been earlier when she thought he was hurt, Henry dropped to one knee and looked up into her dazzlingly beautiful eyes. 

“My Lady? Can you really doubt me? After everything I’ve helped you achieve this last year?”  
“I have a task for you that I know Henry Samanera would be able to complete.”  
“Of course, My Lady,” Henry replied, rising to his feet.  
“Kill the one called Patrick.”

*

“They might be more advanced in some things,” Pete grumbled as he patted hard on his legs to shake the dust from his jeans, “but they really need to get their transport system sorted out.”  
“What’s wrong with a Jerren?” Donnie replied as he caught Pete’s complaint.  
“Seriously?” Pete cried as he watched the train of animals that appeared part donkey and part camel being led to their stalls. “They’re loud, uncomfortable and they stink!”  
“Oh, and what do you use for transport?” Marcus piped up.  
“Well, there’s the subway,” Joe smirked. “That’s not… oh, no, it is.”  
“I was thinking about cars,” Pete frowned, trying hard not to smile at Joe’s comment.  
“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” Marcus pouted indignantly. “We’re here now. Laura, where are they?”

Laura closed her eyes, mentally reaching out to find the two men. Her brow creased as even after a few minutes of trying, nothing had come to her.

“I don’t know, I can’t sense them,” she admitted with a panicked expression fixed on her face.  
“You mean…?” Marcus’ eyes filled with water as he took her words to mean they were dead. Paling, the distressed Sandman looked almost as if he would fall where he stood. “They… they can’t be! I’d know! He’s my brother… I’d know!”

Now with tears standing in her own eyes, Laura was oblivious to Pete, Joe and Andy crowding around her.

“No,” Andy insisted. “There must be another reason you can’t find them. There has to be.”  
“Laura?” Joe pressed.  
“Can’t you see she’s upset?” Francis took her in his arms and pulled her away from the three friends, crowding ever closer around her.  
“We are too!” Pete snapped. “She’s talking about our friend too, you know!”

Donnie turned to Shoe, who was remaining silent and staring calmly at the scene in front of him.

“Shoe,” Donnie asked quietly, “is it possible they’re alive?”  
“It’s possible,” he replied in a non-committal fashion.  
“We need luck to find them?”  
“No,” Shoe shook his head lightly. “You need to use the knowledge available to you.”  
“The knowledge available to me?” Donnie asked confused by the reply.  
“Who else might you be able to ask?”  
“Nobody here knows where… oh!” Donnie offered a half smile and nodded. “Thank you, Shoe. Guys… guys!” Donnie interrupted the flow of the argument and despair currently building only feet away from him. “They might be okay, we just need to ask the right people.”  
“And who exactly are the right people?” Pete asked, his voice strained.  
“Marcus and Silas’ parents,” he explained simply.

Turning sharply, his eyes still red and damp, Marcus looked with confusion at Donnie.

“How will they know? They’ll be asleep!”  
“Marcus?” Donnie prompted.  
“Oh!” Marcus bit his lip as he remembered. “They went away not long after Silas, they wouldn’t have been there.”  
“But they are now,” Donnie nodded.  
“Hang on, hang on!” Pete moved forward, turning Donnie by his shoulder. “I don’t get this! How will their parents know what’s happened? Who’ll have told them?”  
“Just try them,” Shoe encouraged.  
“They’ll know by luck?” Joe asked sceptically.  
“No luck required,” Shoe confirmed again. “They already know. All you have to do is ask them.”  
“Come on!” Marcus dragged at Donnie’s arm. “We have to find an avstandball chamber. Stay here!” Marcus barked as the pair walked away.

Watching Marcus and Donnie leave, each of the remaining group thought about the chances that the pair were still alive; each with their own reasons for caring and trying to keep their emotions in check. From the sound of what Mr Crab was saying, there was a very good chance the guys were alive and the entire group was taking comfort in that.

“Fuck waiting!” Pete cried, before heading off after Marcus and Donnie.

Andy and Joe’s eyes widened at the move and Mr Crab couldn’t help but chuckle. Francis and Laura stared in disbelief as Andy and Joe nodded and followed without a word; the Normal Worlders really were a law unto themselves. A sandman, no less, had ordered them all to stay where they were and they were disregarding his order without a second thought. They were irreverent to Mr Crab too and yet neither of them seemed to mind. It was perplexing.

“Shall we?” Shoe waved a hand to suggest to Francis and Laura that they should follow.

Bringing up the rear, Shoe smiled as Francis placed a protective arm around Laura.

“Francis… I…” she began only to receive a silent nod from her companion as he lowered his arm.  
“I know… The Benzedrine,” he sighed resignedly. “Just… can you give me a chance?”  
“You’ve hated me for a long time,” she whispered.  
“I know, I was so wrong. Is it too much to ask that you forgive me?”  
“No,” she shook her head, “it’s just not that easy for me to forget.”  
“I’ll give you all the time you need,” Francis nodded. “Just, please don’t say no without giving me a chance.”  
“I hardly know you,” Laura frowned.  
“I know, that’s my fault, I’ve been locked up with you for eight months and all I know is that a man there for only days has your heart, but do you have his?”  
“Francis, this isn’t fair,” Laura complained as they walked.  
“No, I know, and I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, just please let me get to know you and…”  
“I won’t shut you out, Francis, that’s all I can promise.”  
“That’s all I ask, thank you.”

The pair almost collided with the rest of the group, so deep were they in conversation. Andy turned as Laura brushed his arm and smiled as he steadied her from falling.

“Oh!” Laura gasped. “I’m sorry! Where…” she looked around for Donnie and Marcus. “Where did they go?”  
“In there,” Andy pointed towards a small building. “I think they’ve only got one avstandball, so there’s a bit of a queue.”

*

“Donnie, do you really think father knows if they’re alive?” Marcus asked; his voice edged with excitement. “It’s been so long since I’ve spoken to him. I… I know I’m a grown man, Donnie, but… does it seem pathetic that I’m looking to my father to help me?”  
Donnie frowned. “Marcus… you have a good relationship with your father now, don’t you?”  
“Yeah,” Marcus nodded. “I…” he put his hand to his mouth. “All those centuries without him all because of a stupid misunderstanding… I… I missed him. Donnie… Am I being pathetic?”

Donnie tilted his head to one side as he realised just how insecure Marcus really was and his earlier admission that he believed himself not to be worth helping, flooded back to the worried catcher. Smiling, he tried to explain.

“Marcus, how can you even begin to think that? You know, I’m finding out some things about you that I would never have imagined in a million years.”  
“Bad things?” Marcus asked quietly, nervously.  
Donnie laughed and shook his head. “Your father actually offered to pay me to keep an eye on you and Silas, but I wouldn’t take the money. You’re both my friends and I’d do anything for either of you. I had no idea that the brash, confident you wasn’t the real you and I’m humbled that you feel you can open up to me now. Wanting or needing to rely on family, no matter how old you are, isn’t a bad thing, Marcus. It’s a good thing, it’s a normal thing to want to do and that you can do it is so much for the better! He loves you and I know you love him and if you can work together to find Silas and Patrick then that’s even better. It’s not pathetic. Don’t you see?”

Marcus’ eye welled with tears at Donnie’s words. Somehow his friend always seemed to know exactly what to say and when to say it. He seemed so grounded, so confident, so very different to how he felt and up until now, oblivious to that fact.

“Hey, come on,” Donnie smiled. “You’re no different to the rest of us, you know. So you let your guard down, it’s healthy sometimes, you know? When we get back, I’ll tell you something you don’t know about me, then we’re even.”  
“Why not now?” Marcus turned a puzzled expression to his friend.  
“Ah, if I tell you now, you’ll be way too freaked out to speak to your father,” Donnie beamed broadly, raising a smile to Marcus’ previously dour expression. “That’s better.”  
“Thirty-two!” a grey-haired, middle-aged man yelled as he stepped from the booth near the entrance.  
“That’s us!” Marcus called in return as he raised his hand showing the ticket.  
“Pay attention! Ball’s empty. One hundred dupons,” he replied gruffly.  
“One hundred!” Marcus’ eyes widened as his jaw dropped.   
“You see another avstandball chamber in this town?”  
“No,” Marcus grumbled.  
“One hundred dupons, in advance.”

Marcus narrowed his eyes as he drew his lips into a thin line at the suggestion that he couldn’t be trusted. He could put this guy to sleep, no one would know. His own Benzedrine would wake him soon enough. It would be so easy.

“Pay the man, Marcus!” Donnie growled in his ear.  
“I am! I am!” he replied reaching inside his coat for his wallet.  
“I know what you’re thinking,” Donnie whispered. “And before you ask, no, I didn’t even have to read your mind to do it.” 

Grudgingly handing over the money to the booth attendant, Marcus turned swiftly and headed up the stairs to the vacant avstandball.

“Your new leaf, Marcus, what happened to it?” Donnie asked following him inside.  
“One hundred dupons! Donnie, that’s extortion! It’s five times what I paid in Es Galleons!”  
Donnie sighed. “Make the call, Marcus.”  
“All right, I was wrong, there, I admit it. Better?” Marcus’ shoulders sagged. “Ugh! Donnie, I’m so sorry, I’m just so tense.”  
“It’s okay,” Donnie smiled again. “Make the call, let’s get some answers.”


	15. Patrick is to be sold... again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is Patrick is to be auctioned off to the highest bidder, or is it just a trap?

“No, My Lady, I can’t do that,” Henry replied slowly to Lady Constance’s order that he kill Patrick.  
“No, I didn’t think you would. So, you _are_ a Guard? Congratulations, you really had me fooled.”  
   
Lady Constance gave an angry and bitter scowl, hurt by the betrayal. About to signal for her guards she paused as Henry spoke again.  
   
“No, My Lady, you weren’t fooled, I’m not a member of the Guard. I am Henry Samanera. But I cannot kill Patrick, and not for the reason you clearly still believe. My Lady, I have convinced them that I am working undercover and am on their side. They will now trust me with whatever I suggest.”  
“And what do you suggest?”  
“We go ahead with our original plan to have Ruler Joshua and his entourage sent to sleep…”  
“He’s not a Sandman, he can’t do it,” Lady Constance interrupted.  
“But he doesn’t know that you’re aware of that fact, they will do what I ask and sit quietly while we put into action our new plan.”  
“Which is?” Lady Constance snapped, still unconvinced.  
“We put the word out that we have a Normal Worlder for sale. It is bound to attract a lot of interest… especially from the Sandman. He will know that we have both him and his brother. Of course, he’ll try to rescue them, but instead he'll walk straight into a trap. And then, we will have both of them.”  
“And we can continue with our plan?”  
“Ah… I have something better in mind, My Lady, much better,” Henry smirked; the gleam in his eyes piquing Lady Constance’s interest.  
“Better than killing Ruler Joshua?”  
“Oh, yes, My Lady. When we have the pair, it’s not just that we have a Sandman and a Benzedrine any more. No, we will have the heirs to the ruling dynasty. With both princes under lock and key we’ll have the ability to make anything we want happen. For instance, we could force Lord Joshua to abdicate, to renounce his sons’ claim and officially invest you as the new Ruler. Yes, you could try by force after you kill him, but the Guard would overthrow you in an instant. This way, with the reason for his abdication kept secret under threat of hurting his sons, it would all be official and you would rule Carousel. Don’t you like the sound of that?” Henry grinned, certain that he knew the answer.

Lady Constance’s lips parted, before a broad smile graced her lips.

“Henry,” she began, cupping his cheek with her hand. “You are a genius! I’m so sorry I doubted you.”  
“I understand, My Lady, you must be careful in your position, but I won’t let you down.”

*

Marcus’ heart was racing as he punched in the details to contact his parents and the wait for the reply was killing him. He heard the voice before the hologram was even fully formed.

“Marcus! Oh, Marcus! You’re safe!”  
“Mother!” Marcus called in reply, pressing his fingers against the glass that stood between him and the hologram chamber. “Are you okay? And father?”  
“Yes, we’re fine. Just a moment,” she turned away before briefly disappearing. Even with no hologram, Marcus and Donnie could still hear Eleanor calling. “Joshua! Come quickly, it’s Marcus!”

Reappearing quickly, Eleanor smiled at her son, trying hard not to comment on his impetuous behaviour in trying to rescue Silas without help from the Guard.

“I’m sorry, Donnie,” she smiled again. “Where are my manners? It’s good to see you too. He’s not causing you too much trouble is he?”  
“Mother!” Marcus pouted indignantly.  
“No, My Lady,” Donnie stifled a laugh. “Not too much, anyway.”  
“Donnie, please, do I have to ask you again?” she asked cocking her head to one side.  
“I… sorry, I can’t. It… ah… It doesn’t feel right… Somehow.”

Interrupted by a flurry of noise as the pair heard a shuffling sound followed by a muffled bang. Within moments Joshua appeared alongside his wife.

“Marcus,” he began breathlessly. “Are you all right?”  
“I’m fine,” Marcus replied hurriedly. “What do you know about Silas? We can’t find him. Is he still… alive?” His voice cracking as he uttered the last word.

Joshua’s face fell at his son’s pain and his expression darkened.

“Yes, he’s still alive, thankfully. He was taken by slavers and bought by Lady Constance Allandra. When I get my hands on those…”  
“Someone beat you to it,” Marcus replied in an icy, almost malevolent, tone. “The slavers are dead.”  
“You?” Joshua asked hesitantly.  
“No,” Marcus shook his head quickly. “But…”  
“No, Marcus, we didn’t raise you to kill people, you know that,” Joshua cut in.  
“Yeah, like that’s not what you were thinking!”  
“Son, we have laws for a reason.”  
“Well what if this Allandra woman threatens Silas? I mean, I’m not going to sit back and…”  
“Marcus,” Eleanor began calmly. “You have powers that can deal with most situations, you don’t need to do anything so drastic.”  
“But…!”  
“I understand, I really do. You’re angry and hurting. Silas is in trouble and he’s your brother, of course you want to help him, but not at your own expense. Promise me, sweetheart.”

Marcus looked away, refusing to make eye-contact with his mother, trying not to think about the man with the lappa snake.

“Promise me, Marcus,” Eleanor insisted forcefully.  
“All right,” he sighed. “I promise.”  
“Now, Allandra,” Joshua began. “She has Silas and Patrick locked in a cell guarded by a maktval…”  
“That’s why we can’t find them!” Marcus cried jubilantly; now believing them to be alive. “The maktval’s blocking the signal… or whatever she picks up on.”  
“Who?” Joshua frowned. “Who’s with you?”  
“Laura, she was the one who… Ow!”

Donnie rolled his eyes as he discreetly moved his hand back, having pinched Marcus’ arm.

“What are you doing?” Marcus complained, missing the point of Donnie’s intervention. “She’s a Locator,” he continued. “She used to help the slavers… oh… Sorry, Donnie.”  
“She did what? And you’re letting her lead you to Silas and Patrick now!” Joshua fumed. “It’s probably a trap, Marcus, you can’t trust her!”  
“No, but…”  
“She was a prisoner herself,” Donnie cut in, “she was being forced to work for them.”  
“I don’t care,” Joshua frowned with deep concern. “I don’t trust her.”  
“Well, we have to find them somehow!” Marcus objected.  
“I can tell you exactly where they are, but I’m not going to,” Joshua sighed.  
“Why?” Marcus asked stunned by the reply.  
“Her plan is to put us to sleep, then come here and kill us. Of course, we’ll be ready, but this is my best chance to arrest her yet, I’m not going to do anything to jeopardise that.”

Marcus’ eyes widened at the apparently callous remark. But he found his reply fading as his mother spoke.

“Joshua,” Eleanor began in an unnaturally calm voice. “That’s my baby boy you’re putting at risk while you play Captain of the Guard. I cannot and will not allow you to do that. Now tell them where they are.”  
“Ellie…”  
“Tell them!” she shouted with a combination of fear and anguish. “Joshua, I’m not going to go into why you think she’s more important than your son, but if not for him, do it for Patrick. He shouldn’t even be here!” Eleanor turned sharply towards Marcus. “And we’ll discuss that later!”  
“Well, he’s not the only one here! Pete, Joe and Andy are too!” Marcus replied hastily, leaving Donnie to throw his hands up in despair and shake his head.  
“Marcus!” Eleanor snapped, horrified by the news. “What were you thinking?”  
“That’s not really a good thing, is it?” Marcus turned a guilty expression toward Donnie.  
“No, Marcus, it’s not,” Donnie sighed.  
“Please tell me where they are,” Marcus begged. “Father, this is Silas we’re talking about. You can’t put him at risk!”  
“He’s taken care of, I’ve seen to it. There’s no risk, nothing will happen to him.”  
“Apart from the torture he’s already suffered.”  
“Please, Ellie! You’re not helping!”  
“Torture!” Marcus cried. “Father! How can you…?”  
“You don’t understand,” he replied shaking his head, his eyes lowered. “I know you, Marcus, you’ll storm in there and if you do, there’s a very good chance that she’ll get you too! Just… please don’t push this. As much as I hate to say it, I will not give you the information. Losing the two of you to her is a much bigger risk and one I can’t take.”  
“Joshua,” Eleanor took her husband’s arm. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”

Marcus, suddenly subdued by the emotional outburst, stood silently for a few moments before finally finding his voice.

“I’m sorry, father, but please tell me. I can’t come all this way and do nothing.”  
“Yes you can, son, and you will. You should never have gone alone,” Joshua insisted.  
“I’m not alone!”  
“You shouldn’t have gone without the Guard. Don’t you know who you are? What you are? It’s too dangerous!”  
“You didn’t think it was too dangerous for Silas,” Marcus protested.  
“You’re brother lied to us about his itinerary,” Joshua sighed. “Trust me, when he gets home, and he will get home, that boy is grounded for life!”  
“Marcus…” Eleanor began, her voice choked. “Come home.”  
“But what’ll I say to the others?” Marcus replied bewildered. “I can’t send them back without Patrick!”  
“Bring everyone here,” Joshua suggested. “This is where they’re going to bring Silas and Patrick anyway.”  
“Time’s up!” A voice yelled from outside. “Get out, there’s a queue, you know!”  
“I gotta go,” Marcus whispered wretchedly.  
“Come home, Marcus,” Joshua answered. “It’ll be okay, I promise. They’ll be okay.”

Nodding briefly, Marcus cut off the link and watched as the holograms faded.

“What the Hills am I gonna do, Donnie?” Marcus asked, placing a hand to his mouth as he trudged down the steps once more.

*

“Patrick?”

Patrick groaned softly as his own voice spoke to him, gently bringing him to full wakefulness.

“How do you do that?”  
“What?” Patrick mumbled in return, initially unsure to whom he was speaking, despite recognising his own voice. Above him, all he could see was a bright light and all around white ceilings and walls.  
“Wake without a Benzedrine?” the voice asked. “Are you sure you don’t have any powers? That’s pretty impressive, you know.”

Patrick laughed quietly to himself. It seemed inconsistent to him that he and the rest of the band had, as strange as it seemed to them, accepted that everyone in Carousel slept and woke at the best of Sandmen and Benzedrines, yet they seemed at a loss to understand how it could possibly work without them.

“There are no Benzedrines in my world, Silas,” he smiled. “We wake ourselves, or… we get clocks to do it for us.”  
“Clocks?” Silas asked, puzzled by the reply.  
“Clocks,” Patrick repeated, “they keep time.”  
“How?” he asked with a little too much surprise. “Where do they keep it?”  
“No…” Patrick frowned, coming to as he concentrated to reply. “I mean…”  
“I know,” Silas chuckled. “Little doctor trick. Ask strange questions, the patient has to concentrate to answer… they wake up.”  
“Don’t they wake just because you tell them to?” Patrick asked, now even more puzzled.  
“No, not if they’re ill,” Silas sighed. “Well… they part wake, but they need a little coaxing sometimes.”

Patrick frowned; he had known almost immediately that something was wrong and Silas’ gentle almost distracting approach had only seemed to confirm his suspicions. He hardly dared say the words buzzing in his head.

“Silas?”  
“I know… you can’t move.” Silas sighed. “Well, from the neck down, anyway. Neither can I.”  
“What have they done to us?”  
“It’s temporary, provided we’re released properly,” Silas began to explain. “They must have a doctor here. We’re on a Stans Plate,” he stated grimly.  
“I’m not gonna like this, am I?”  
“No, we’re in real trouble.” Silas sighed heavily. “A Stans Plate is a method of immobilisation, they’re banned across Carousel because they’re really quite dangerous and there’s no justification for ever needing them.”  
“What are they?” Patrick asked nervously.  
“They were developed years ago, slightly before maktvals by a man called Johannes Stans. They were designed to stop people with powers from even moving so they couldn’t use their powers during trials or imprisonment.”  
“You’re saying that criminals were immobilised like this? For how long?”  
Silas lowered his eyes. “The idea was that they would be held immobile until their sentence expired, but it was too cruel and inhumane, father wouldn’t allow it. Stans tried to sell them to doctors for severely deranged psychiatric patients but only the worst… the lowest of the low ever bought one of these monstrosities. One day, a patient died whilst on the plate and an investigation was launched into Stans. He’d lied about his testing, he’d done none of the required tests! None!” As he recounted the tale, Silas’ professional pride grew and he was soon an edgy combination of angry and indignant. “Stans had gone missing, probably afraid of arrest or worse, and an investigation was launched into the safety of the plates or lack of it. I led the investigation and it was horrifying.”

Silas paused, wishing he hadn’t begun the story. He knew all that would happen now was that he would terrify Patrick.

“Go on,” Patrick pressed, now that Silas had begun, he needed to hear everything.  
“Oh… They work by injecting needles into the neck. A filament bundle is threaded through the needle and that in turn splits into about a hundred separate filaments, each so thin they can only be seen under a microscope. They… they attach themselves to the nerves in the spine, meshing with them. It becomes as if they are the nerves themselves. The needle is attached to a control panel and each of the filaments can be switched on or off as necessary, to allow selective movement, but typically, all motor nerves would be shut down. The patient would be completely immobilised.”  
“That’s…” Patrick gasped, his words failing him.  
“It’s an abomination,” Silas spat angrily. “That’s what it is!”  
“So, they can just release my hand for using a power?” Patrick asked.  
“Yes,” Silas replied unhappily. “They can also slow down your reactions. If they suspect you’re doing anything other than what they ask, they’ll stop you easily enough and they’ll probably threaten to kill me if you do.”  
“You said they were dangerous?” Patrick pressed, although he could now feel his heart pounding with anxiety.  
“It soon became apparent that the chances of…” Silas paused, his own heart racing. Acutely aware of their terrible predicament, he was having difficulty trying to explain to Patrick whilst not removing all hope from their desperate situation.  
“Silas,” Patrick encouraged, his tone flat yet apprehensive, “please, just tell me. It’s okay.”

Impressed by Patrick’s bravery, Silas managed a faint smile before continuing.

“Neuropathic atrophy,” he choked out. “Eventually, your nerves waste away. The simplest of tests would have found it, but Stans wasn’t interested in tests or safety, he only wanted money and that he never got backing from father and The Council drove him to sell it on the black market. Probably how a couple ended up here.”  
“Is there anything we can do?” Patrick asked, reasonably certain he knew the answer.  
“No,” Silas confirmed. “And we better pray that no one without medical training tries to help us either. One tiny slip and we’re dead.”

*

“Marcus?” Donnie ventured quietly. “Are you going home?”  
Marcus swallowed hard as he considered Donnie’s question. “No, no, I’m not,” he replied in a somehow shaky yet determined voice. “I can’t leave him… them here without even trying to find them. Why? Do you think I should?”  
“I’d have been surprised if you did,” Donnie replied with a casual shrug, bringing a relieved smile to the unhappy sandman’s face. “What are you going to tell them?”

Stopping dead in his tracks, Marcus sighed and shook his head.

“As strange as this is going to sound, Donnie,” he paused, barely believing it himself. “I’m going to tell the truth.”  
Donnie chuckled. “Marcus, you’re not always truthful, but you’re not a pathological liar, you know! It doesn’t sound strange at all!”  
“Really?” Marcus turned pained eyes towards his friend. “I need them, Donnie.” Looking away, his brow creased, Marcus shook his head lightly again. “I can’t do this without them, without you. If either you or they elect not to help me, there’s nothing I can do, not alone, but… but you’re right,” he nodded with a sigh. “It has to be their choice. I can’t keep forcing people to do what I want, no matter how much I need it.”  
“It was a real shock for me when you told us that you didn’t think you were worth helping,” Donnie paused, searching for the right words. “You always seemed so confident, self-assured, bulletproof. It was a real eye-opener and, of course, it was absolute nonsense.”  
“What?” Marcus stopped dead in his tracks and pulled sharply at Donnie’s arm, turning him to face him. “You think I was lying about that?”

Donnie’s expression softened and the ends of his mouth curled up into a sympathetic smile.

“No,” he shook his head lightly, “I believe you mean it, but the fact of it is nonsense. It simply isn’t true, Marcus, but the only way you’ll ever learn that is by letting people get close enough to you so that you can see that they love and trust you. You don’t need to make people help you, only to let them. They will, Marcus, I promise you.”  
“How do you just know all this stuff?” Marcus frowned.  
“You’ve spent your entire adult life in a place where you quite literally can’t believe what you see, and you’ve been very wrong about your family and your place within it. Are you truly surprised you’re confused now?”  
Marcus offered a faint smile at his friend. “No, I guess not. You’re a good friend, Donnie, I don’t know how you put up with me.”  
“It’s surprisingly easy,” he smirked in reply. “Come on, let’s get back.”

Even from a distance, Marcus and Donnie could see the small group waiting for their return, not far from the avastandball chamber, were agitated. A quick glance between the two men was all it took for them to pick up their pace. Within moments, they were running to meet their friends.

“What?” Marcus searched their faces urgently, looking for a sign, any sign to show what was wrong. The tension was almost palpable and Marcus could wait no longer. “What? What’s wrong?”

Joe frowned and silently pressed a black disc, roughly the size of a CD into Marcus’ hand.

“What’s this?” he asked nervously.  
“It’s a…” Laura began with a confused frown.  
“I know what it is!” Marcus protested. “But… why are you all so…”

Frowning deeply and dreading the reply, Marcus didn’t even finish the question. Instead, he waved a hand over it to active the recording. Hearing now what the others had already heard, Marcus felt sick. If he hadn’t already decided to stay, this would have made up his mind in an instant.

_Welcome, ladies and gentlemen to the sale literally of a lifetime! You are all invited to join an auction like no other you have ever attended – the sale of a Normal Worlder! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, they do exist, but they are rare beyond your wildest dreams. Come, enjoy the luxury of inspecting the goods for yourself at a special preview session._   
_There is no need for concern, we assure you that there is no danger. With the specimen immobilised on a Stans Plate, you will be free to examine it for yourself. We are confident that you will not be disappointed. Viewing details may be obtained at the Cheen and Barbik Tavern._

“Patrick!”


	16. Jealousy Rears Its Ugly Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is everyone really trying to find Patrick and Dr Benzedrine?

“Where did you get this?” Marcus asked. Although clearly shocked by the message, his tone displayed an underlying anger, bubbling just below the surface.  
“A man was just handing them out to people,” Joe explained. “I took one… no idea what it was but… then I heard it when Francis played it. I can’t believe this goes on here… and so openly.”  
“It won’t for much longer,” Marcus growled. “When we get back I’ll get The Guard down here so fast, they won’t know what’s hit them! Where did he go?”  
“He…” Joe began.  
“Wait,” Donnie interrupted, his voice clipped and urgent.  
“Wait!” Marcus growled, not even bothering to keep his voice low. “Wait for what? For Patrick to be sold? For Silas to be killed? What do you want to wait for, Donnie?”  
“Marcus, please, think about it for a moment. Be rational.”

Looking down, the Sandman gave the impression of trying hard to hold his temper. He had seen red. Already angry at the situation in general and at his parents’ insistence that he return home without finding Silas, this seemed the last straw.

“How can you say that?” he shouted. “They’ve got Silas! If he were your brother, wouldn’t you…”

Marcus cut his rant short suddenly, his eyes widening with a mixture of horror and self-reproach. All eyes were on the pair as they stood in silence, Donnie staring at the ground and Marcus wishing the ground would swallow him up.

“Donnie… I… I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to say that. I mean… I shouldn’t… I’m so sorry!”  
“It’s okay,” Donnie mumbled without even looking up. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

Moving forward, Marcus threw his arms around his best friend and pulled him into a tight hug. It was impossible to see from the angle, but from the sound of his voice, Marcus was crying.

“You… you know what I’m like, Donnie. It… It’s no excuse, but I can’t help it… I speak without thinking.”  
Donnie allowed a small laugh to escape his lips. “Marcus, you do everything without thinking.”  
“Please, forgive me?” Marcus whispered.  
“Of course,” Donnie nodded as he eased out of the hug. Looking at his pale and concerned friend, he offered a sincere smile. “Now then, you were about to race off on your own to the tavern.”  
“You read my mind? Donnie! I promised I wouldn’t do that to you, you could at least…”  
“I didn’t have to,” Donnie’s smile broadened. “I know you too well. You might as well have held up a sign.”

Marcus shrugged. He and Donnie had been best friends since they were boys. With only a century between them, they had always been close. If Marcus were honest, he viewed Donnie as a non-threatening younger brother. His rivalry with Silas had set in at a very young age, even when Silas was born, he felt threatened by the new arrival and what it might mean to the level of attention showered on him by his parents. Of course, it had made no difference, but the seed of doubt had been planted. As Silas grew into a handsome and intelligent young man, all of Marcus’ deeply held insecurities had fired to life and their relationship took a very fast and steep dive, finally spiralling out of control until only a few weeks earlier. Throughout this turbulent period, Donnie had been a constant friend and companion, neither judging nor demanding. But it wasn’t all one-sided; Marcus had been there through the tough times for Donnie too. The death of his twin brother not long after Marcus had taken Governorship of the Dream World had been a desperate time for the young Catcher. Perhaps it was because they were twins that he felt it so keenly, perhaps he blamed himself, but it had taken a decade inside an interactive, recuperative dream spun by Marcus especially for him, to get him through the darkest moments.

“Okay,” Marcus sighed. “What do you suggest?”

*

“I think we’re out of the cell,” Silas broke the absolute silence. “The ceiling looks different.”  
If he could have shrugged, he would have done. Instead Patrick offered up a weak smile and the words: “Good to have a change of scenery.”  
“I… I don’t know how to tell you this,” Silas ventured after a long pause.  
“After everything you’ve told me so far, do you really think you can scare me more?” Patrick replied with a pained laugh.  
“I’m sorry, Patrick,” Silas sighed guiltily. “I’m so sorry Marcus brought you here and you’ve ended up in the middle of this mess.”  
“I’ve got to be honest with you, as much as I wanted to help I’d rather be at home now, having a coffee or even unclogging the sink! Anything other than lying here like I’m in one of the Saw movies.”  
“What’s a Saw movie?” Silas frowned in confusion.  
“You don’t want to know, trust me,” Patrick sighed. “I didn’t see them all, but… what I did see didn’t end well.”  
“But Henry’s on our side,” Silas tried to sound encouraging. “He works for my father, he’ll make sure we get out of this.”  
“I hope so,” Patrick forced his voice up a tone to sound optimistic.

Lost in thought, Patrick mused over everything that had happened to him since meeting Dr Benzedrine in that small coffee shop, what seemed like a lifetime ago. He closed his eyes as he thought about his two visits to Carousel and their adventures, some of which he would be more than happy to forget. He had nearly died following an attempt to rescue Silas during his last visit to Carousel; it was beginning to become something of a habit.

 _Note to self: Break habit of nearly being killed_.

“I’m sorry about that,” Silas replied to Patrick’s unspoken thought. “It’s my fault for acting without thinking.”  
“You… You know what I’m thinking?” Patrick asked, taken aback by the idea. Then suddenly casting his mind back, worrying about all occasions he may have thought something that he would have preferred to remain private.  
“No!” Silas chuckled. “I don’t hear everything you think! Can you imagine how noisy that would be in my own mind if I could hear everyone thinking?”  
“Well…” Patrick paused. “It might just have been me, you know, because we look alike.”  
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Patrick, but even all your thoughts would overload me! I have enough going on with my own!”  
“Then if you can’t hear my…”  
“I didn’t say can’t,” Silas corrected. “I said don’t.”  
“You can listen in on my thoughts? Any time you like? And I won’t know anything about it?” Patrick sounded unnerved and more than a little concerned.  
“I can,” he replied carefully. “But I don’t.”  
“But you heard that,” Patrick argued.  
“Well you thought it loud!” Silas defended himself. “It’s not as if I had much of a choice! Besides, it’s not as if I tried to pretend that I didn’t hear you, is it?”  
“No,” Patrick admitted. “I don’t think I’m actually that bothered to be honest.”  
“Marcus does it just to freak people out sometimes,” Silas chuckled to himself. “Of course, officially, I disapprove.”  
“I had no idea you could do that,” Patrick replied conversationally.  
“Oh, yeah, and Donnie too,” Silas answered distractedly. “We all developed the ability within a few centuries of each other. Of course Marcus got it first, probably because he was the oldest. He was intolerable at first… Well… he was intolerable before that too, but he just got worse. Donnie was next and he bounced a thought back at Marcus when he tried to read him, not realising he could do it too. Knocked him flat! Funniest thing I ever saw,” he chuckled at the memory. “He looked so indignant, it was priceless. But he never did it again after that. Donnie made him promise he’d never do it again. I’ll give him that,” Silas tried to nod, but couldn’t, “if he makes a promise, he keeps it.”

*

“Are they alive?” Pete demanded; finally asking the question they all wanted to know.  
“Why can’t I locate them?” Laura asked worriedly.  
“They’re okay, they’re in a cell blocked by a maktval,” Marcus explained, receiving a mixed response from the group. Pete, Andy and Joe all frowned in confusion, whilst Laura almost squealed in delight.  
“That’s why!” she cried. “He’s still alive! He…” she paused as, behind her, she heard a soft sigh emerge from Francis’ lips. “They… They’re still alive.”  
“Well, where are they?” Joe pressed.  
“I don’t know!” Marcus snapped. “They wouldn’t tell me! They’re worried about me getting caught too.”

Andy’s tense brow softened as he realised the likelihood of that happening was quite high, knowing Marcus’ reckless tendencies were even greater than Pete’s.

“Well, what if we use this chance to pretend to buy Patrick? Won’t that take us right to them?” he asked, looking around to gauge everyone’s opinion.  
“My parents want me to go home and take you all with me,” Marcus looked around too, but with a slightly nervous expression.  
“I’m not going anywhere that isn’t without Patrick and Silas,” Pete insisted with a deep frown.  
Marcus’ nervous countenance disappeared in a moment only to be replaced by a broad grin. “Well, I can hardly leave you here, can I?” he announced before striding through the centre of the group. “The tavern, you said?”

*

“So, Sandman,” Henry addressed Patrick as he drew alongside the Stans Plate that held him immobile. “Are you ready to put Ruler Joshua to sleep?”  
“So you can kill him? No!”

Henry tutted his disdain and he shook his head.

“He’s being difficult, My Lady, perhaps I need to teach him a lesson?”  
“I believe so, Henry,” Allandra swept into view and Patrick turned an angry scowl in her direction. “And I do believe that for that look alone he should be punished.”  
“I agree, My Lady, but I still believe that the best way to him is through his brother. Tell me, Sandman,” Henry paused as he leaned menacingly over Patrick, “would you like your brother paralysed from the waist down or the neck?”  
“Wh…what?” Patrick’s eyes widened. “Silas?” he called almost for reassurance.  
“He can do it,” Silas replied miserably. “The wires are attached to the spinal chord. It would be the smallest flip of a switch to him.”  
“And he’d be paralysed, no longer able to wake people up, no more hospital, no more Doctor Benzedrine.”  
“No, please! I’ll do it!” Patrick choked out, convincingly upset by what he still hoped was a fake threat.  
“My dear, Henry, once again you’ve worked wonders,” Allandra drew an unwelcome hand across Patrick’s cheek. “Let me know when it’s done, I have some matters to attend to.”  
“Yes, My Lady, I will come to speak to you later.”

Watching as Lady Constance swept from the room, Henry turned his attention to Silas.

_‘Doctor Benzedrine, you can hear my thoughts? Yes?’_   
_‘Y…yes.’ Silas thought in return._   
_‘I have to contact you like this, Lady Constance is suspicious of me now, she may have me under surveillance.’_   
_‘Is my father in danger?’_   
_‘Yes, I’m afraid he is. But more than that, Mister Sandman is in danger.’ Henry explained telepathically._   
_‘Patrick?’_   
_‘No, the real Mister Sandman. Lady Constance heard us talking, I had to convince her that I wasn’t working for the Guard. The only way to do that was to admit everything she heard. She knows who you are and what you are.’_   
_‘What I am?’ Silas queried._   
_‘My Lord Joshua’s son. She knows you’re a prince.’_   
_‘I hate that term!’ Silas complained silently._   
_‘Regardless, it’s what you are and she knows it. And now she has her sights set on Mister Sandman too.’_   
_“No!” Silas cried aloud, forgetting himself._   
_“Silas, what’s wrong?” Patrick asked, concerned by the sudden outburst._   
_“N…nothing, I’m fine,” Silas replied shakily._   
_“You don’t sound fine,” Patrick replied worried by his tone. “What’s wrong?” Patrick insisted._   
_“I’ll tell you when we’re alone,” Silas replied carefully._   
_‘You told her about Marcus?’ Silas resumed the telepathic conversation._   
_‘I had no choice, she would have killed me and you would have been on your own. As it is, I’ll never get you out of here alive unless we play along.’_   
_‘What will she do to Patrick if she gets hold of Marcus?’_   
_‘It’s my job to make sure that there’s a reason to keep him alive and well. She’s threatening to sell him at the moment, but it’s just a ploy to try to pull Mister Sandman into a trap. He will know to stay away, won’t he?’_   
_‘Marcus?’ Silas stifled a laugh. ‘No, he’ll stumble blindly in. Not because he’s stupid, just because he cares too much and it blinkers him.’_   
_‘Then I have some thinking to do, my priority is to keep you all safe…’_   
_‘And my father!’ Silas stressed._   
_‘That goes without saying,’ Henry explained._   
_‘No, it doesn’t, I need to hear it.’_   
_‘I’m sorry, Highness, I didn’t mean to cause offence.’_   
_‘Don’t call me that! Silas is fine.’_   
_‘But…’_   
_‘You’re arguing with your prince?’ Silas chuckled lightly in his mind._   
_‘No, Hi… Silas, of course not,’ Henry returned in the same amused tone._

Even before he had learned of his status and public office, Henry had been impressed by Silas Benzedrine’s strength of character. He respected Silas’ bravery and his willingness to suffer for a friend, something that he doubted many people from The Hills would have done.

Not even thinking that Silas could still hear his thoughts, Henry’s mind briefly wandered and he found himself thinking back to The Hills and his commission into the Guard. Pledging loyalty to Ruler Joshua and a promise to protect Carousel and its citizens without fear or favour. It had been a commitment that he took very seriously indeed. Seriously enough, he hoped, to one day make lieutenant.

‘ _Don’t worry,’ Silas reassured him. ‘I’m sure there’ll be little short of a hero’s welcome waiting if you can get us home.’_  
 _‘When, not if,’ Henry replied in thought, his determination as steady as a rock although it was clear to the young Benzedrine that he was somewhat embarrassed that those particular thoughts had been heard_.

“You’re going back into the cell,” Henry announced aloud.  
“Me?” Silas gasped with feigned distress. “What about Marcus? What are you doing?”

Patrick turned his eyes to his right, desperately trying to see what was going on. Silas was so upset; was he faking it? It sounded genuine, but Patrick knew by now that theatricality ran in his family and just how easy he found it to be convincing about a lie.

“What are you doing with him?”

Deciding, or more specifically, hoping it was an act, Patrick played along. Not having heard the telepathic conversation, Patrick was still a fraction uncertain over Henry’s intentions. It would be all too easy to believe that they were being fooled as much as Lady Constance. Knowing how easy it would be to control them if they believed that they were in the middle of some bizarre rescue attempt, Patrick felt uneasy about their situation already and now more so that he intended to separate them.

“Him, Sandman? Nothing to him,” Henry replied with an all too convincing sinister laugh. Despite wanting to believe he was on their side, Patrick couldn’t help but feel terrified.

_‘Don’t worry, Patrick,’ Henry reassured him on seeing his pale features drain further. ‘You’ll be fine, I promise.’_

It would have helped so much more, of course, if Patrick had been able to hear him.

*

“I want to go in alone,” Marcus announced as they arrived at the tavern. “If we all go in together, they won’t speak to us, I’m sure. It’ll look suspicious.”  
“You can’t go in alone, Marcus, it’s dangerous!” Donnie sighed with exasperation. He had known it was just a matter of time before the stressed Sandman suggested something reckless.  
“If we find Patrick, we’ll find Silas. I have to find him, Donnie,” Marcus’ eyes glistened as he spoke. “I have to.”

Donnie frowned. Marcus was a handful at the best of times, but now with his single-minded determination to save his brother, he had lost all sense of personal safety. Ruler Joshua had been right to ask him to go home. He had seen this coming. In this state, Marcus was a prime target for slavers or for Lady Constance. His focus would help him find Silas, certainly, but he knew his friend hadn’t even considered a plan of escape. Marcus would blindly and boldly walk into a trap and be caught in it. He doubted there was much he could say that Marcus would listen to. He needed someone else to make him see sense. Donnie’s eyes widened as Andy spoke up.

“But they’re looking for you now!” Andy explained, gaining a concerned nod from Donnie. “Don’t you see, if they know Patrick is from Normal World, they’ll be looking for you. In fact, it’s probably a trap for you!”  
“You think?” Marcus replied naively. “You don’t think they’re just selling him?”  
“You heard what your father said,” Donnie reminded him. “They need a Sandman for their plan to work. They need you, not just any Sandman. You!”  
“But he’s right,” Francis interrupted. “We do have to find them and all of us at once would look suspicious.”

Looking around at the small group, Francis was relieved to see several nods of agreement. Even the remaining Normal Worlders, as stupid as they were, seemed to be able to grasp that one simple idea. Looking at Laura, he offered a broad smile, taking a sudden deep breath as she offered a faint smile in return. Perhaps things could go his way after all?

“I’m a Renderer,” he began. “I can go in with you, if they know where they are and how to free them, I can extract that from their minds. It’s not like mind reading, I can actually remove the memory and I can take their memory of seeing us.”  
“Silas can do something similar,” Marcus replied with a reflective smile. “He can make you forget things.”

Noting the smile on Laura’s face had broadened at the mention of Silas, Francis held his outward expression of helpful optimism but inside he was fuming.

_Oh, Silas! He mocked in his mind. Silas is wonderful! Silas can do anything! Well Silas was stupid enough to get himself into this situation, I don’t see why I should help to get him out of it just so he can take Laura from me!_

Another broad smile formed on Francis’ face.

“I’ll go with you. Let me help,” Francis insisted.  
“It makes sense,” Pete nodded. “If they won’t give you the information, Francis can take it.”  
“That’s right,” Francis’ mouth curled into a brief smile. “I’m sure you’ll be seeing Silas much sooner than you think.”


	17. Traitor!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis shows his true colours but sets himself up nicely to appear a victim

Now standing outside the tavern, the small group could hear the noise inside, the riotous cacophony of sound that greeted them every time the door swung open as someone went in or out. Strangely, although the door seemed to be an ill-fitting wooden door with cracks and holes, whenever it swung shut, the tavern seemed to fall into silence. Largely ignored by the Carouselians, Joe, Pete and Andy regarded it closely. It was like nothing they had every seen except possibly in cartoons. Oddly misshapen, the sides and roof seemed at odds with each other, making a top-heavy construction that appeared it should fall down but somehow gravity itself was ignoring it. The door swung open again and Joe’s eyes widened, stepping back quickly and pulling as many of the others back with him as he could.

“They’re in there,” he whispered. “I saw them.”  
“Let’s go in,” Marcus nodded decisively as the group remained huddled near the door to the tavern, but out of sight from within. “I’ll be perfectly safe. Francis has the power to get he information we need and we can be out of there as soon as we have it,” he added, trying to reassure Donnie, still clearly uncertain.  
“We’ll all go in,” Joe suggested, “but in small groups.”  
“No,” Francis replied firmly. “They’ve seen you all together, when they gave out the discs.”  
“They’ve seen you too!” Joe protested.  
“I can make them forget,” Francis was trying hard not to sound irritable.  
“Then you can make them forget us all!” Pete joined in.  
“I have to anyway! Look at you all! Three sets of twins! You don’t think that will attract any unwelcome attention?”

Each of them stared at their respective counterpart and instantly were forced to accept that Francis was making a valid point.

“We won’t be long,” Marcus reassured them as he leaned forward to push the old wooden door of the seemingly ancient tavern.

Once inside, Marcus stood, trying to look like he belonged, as if he were there just for a casual drink, but he could feel several pairs of eyes on him the moment he was through the door.

“Buyers?” a voice asked slyly, suddenly next to him.  
“Y…yeah, buyers,” he replied with uncertainty. Looking at Francis for confirmation, he felt slightly more at ease as he noticed the Renderer nod and smile.  
“Follow me,” the somewhat gruff voice demanded abruptly.

Now able to see him clearly as he moved in front of the pair and headed towards a door situated at the back of the tavern, Marcus and Francis trailed behind the limping elderly man.

“Weapons?” he asked, stopping outside the door.  
“No,” Marcus shook his head lightly only to receive a condescending laugh and and a head shake in return.  
“Want some?” the man asked with a sly expression.  
“We’re here to negotiate a price, not fight,” Francis replied stepping forward and pulling the door open, almost pushing the man to one side.  
“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” the man looked directly at Marcus.

Not even given chance to reply, Francis shoved the Sandman through the open door. Across from them sat two men behind a table. In front of them lay two tankards, a small avstandball and a small glass cube displaying a hologram of Patrick strapped to the Stans Plate. Francis frowned. Given the apparent twin situation upon which he had commented earlier, he shouldn’t have been unexpected that Patrick was the very image of Silas, but somehow it had come as something of a surprise. Marcus tried hard not to react to the hologram, but he felt all the blood drain from his face as instantly he was reminded of both Patrick and Silas and how this meeting may well be his best chance of finding them.

“Name,” one of the men asked without even bothering to look up.

Gathering his wits, Marcus swept confidently into the room and stood in front of the table, arms folded across his chest.

“You don’t need my name, I’m here to buy, that’s all you need to know.”  
“Name, or you’re out of here now. We have a very long list to get through.”  
“Yeah, I had to squeeze my way through the throng to get here,” Marcus snapped sarcastically.

Looking up with a scowl, the man who had spoken looked up at Marcus before turning his gaze to Francis. Slowly a smirk formed on his face and he turned back to Marcus, his smile holding. 

“Sit,” he ordered.

Drawing back the chair, Marcus took a seat; clearly Francis had done something, was it enough? Had he got the information? Hearing the next question, he knew he hadn’t.

“So, you want the Normal Worlder?”  
“I have plenty of Dupons, more than enough, I’m sure.”  
“Do you have them on you?” the man smiled.  
“I’m not stupid enough to come in here laden with currency if that’s what you think? We make a deal first.”  
“There’s no deal, Sandman,” the man laughed, as his smile lengthened into a superior smirk.

Marcus’ eyes widened; Andy had been right, it was a trap. Pushing himself from the chair, he gasped in shock as the chair itself pulled him back down. 

The wood grain now began unravelling completely and long tendrils wrapped themselves around his wrists and arms, holding them firmly behind him. 

“Levebrod wood!” he cried, desperately trying to pull free from the tightly wound lengths of living bonds. 

No longer in the shape of a chair, what appeared to be long wooden sinews wrapped themselves tightly around Marcus’ legs and chest as he collapsed to the floor helpless in the coils of the sentient and well-trained wood.

“Francis!” he gasped, looking up only to lose all hope as he saw Francis receiving payment for his part in his capture. As the wood wound ever tighter around him, Marcus could feel the energy draining from him as the crushing around his neck prevented him breathing properly. Everything was lost; Lady Constance had them both. “I’m sorry father,” he whispered hoarsely, “I let you down.”

*

Pulling the sheet of lyrics given to her by Patrick from her pocket once more, Laura focussed on it, almost going into a trance-like state. She had used them to find Pete as they were his lyrics, but he had given them to Patrick, perhaps she could use them to find him? If he too were locked behind a maktval it seemed, of course, unlikely, but now that they knew he was a Normal Worlder, it seemed unnecessary for such a precaution. Remembering how Pete had reacted to her intrusion into his mind, she moved carefully, lightly. She had been utterly unaware of Pete’s reaction and had no idea now how Patrick was handling it, but she had to try to find him.

Only a few short miles from the tavern Patrick’s eyes rolled back in their sockets and he gasped as a searing pain blazed in a bolt of white light behind his eyes.

“No… No!” as the pain increased still further leaving him breathless and reeling.  
“Call the doctor!” Henry insisted, mildly panicked by the sudden change in Patrick, certain just from the look of him that it was a genuine reaction to something. “I want him off that thing and the Benzedrine too. I don’t trust it and we need them alive.”

*

“I’ve found him!” Laura cried triumphantly. “I found him! We have to get Marcus and Francis out of there,” she added, pulling at Pete’s sleeves. “I know where they are.”

*

Looking disparagingly down at the unconscious Sandman, the man who had, as yet, not spoken sneered at their prize.

“I didn’t think that would be so easy,” he laughed. “You must really have had his trust to not even listen for you contacting us.”  
“He’s a fool, just like his brother,” Francis shook his head as he pocketed the money.  
“You know about the Benzedrine?” the first man asked nervously.  
“Yeah, I know about him and if he never sees the light of day again, so much the better.”  
“No love lost between you then?” he chuckled.  
“I’ve got my reasons, now, I want you to cut me and hit me, both of you,” Francis demanded.  
“You want what?” the man asked cocking his head to one side.  
“You took us by surprise, six or more of you, overpowered us and took the Sandman.”  
“A girl is it?”  
“Do I have to make you?”  
“Oh no,” the second man cracked his knuckles, “I’ll gladly beat the living daylights out of you!”

In less than two minutes, having put up no defence, Francis lay bruised and bleeding on the floor. One last vicious bruising kick and a cackle of laughter signalled the end of Francis’ beating, leaving him still conscious, but badly hurt enough that he could feign unconsciousness when found.

“Louie,” the first man called followed by a light whistle.

The Levebrod wood, still in long sinewy strips wound tightly around Marcus’ unconscious form began to loosen and unravel. Long tendrils of living wood uncurled from their restricting grip and pulled back, almost snake-like in their movements. Finally coming together again in the shape of a small animal, roughly the size of a pig.

Kneeling, the man placed manacles on Marcus’ wrists and locked them firmly. Lady Constance would be pleased.

*

“Get him off that thing!” Henry barked as the doctor was ushered into the room.  
“Just pull the wires,” the doctor scoffed. “He’s just a Normal Worlder. Who cares?”

Grabbing the doctor’s wrist as he reached for the Stans Plate’s control panel, Henry pulled him back and stepped within inches of his face.

“I care,” he growled though gritted teeth. “He’s worth a great deal to My Lady Constance, that makes him valuable to me and it means your life if you damage him in any way. Do you understand? You get him off that thing and you do it so he’s in perfect health, or I’ll kill you. Got it?”  
“You won’t kill me,” the doctor sneered. “You need me for the Benzedrine. Who’ll release him if I’m already dead?”  
Henry laughed, a malicious and cynical laugh. “You think you’re the only doctor in My Lady’s employ? Trust me Bernhardt the only one who cares if you live or die, is you! Now do what you’re told and do it well, or you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

Doctor Bernhardt scowled deeply at Henry only to have his expression replaced with one of horror as Henry continued.

“Strike that,” he smiled coldly. “You will live long enough. I’ll see to it that you live for days, on the verge of death, begging for it, but never quite there. Do we understand each other?”  
“Y… yes,” Bernhardt stammered.  
“How long does it take?”  
“Safely? About forty minutes.”  
“Get on with it then. Safely and without a single error. Then the Benzedrine.”

Nodding, the doctor opened his bag and took a deep breath. Stans Plates were dangerous and unpredictable; one of the main reasons for their banned status across Carousel. But he had to get this right, twice. His life depended on it.

*

“I don’t see them anywhere,” Donnie’s quick eyes had already scanned the room within moments of entering.  
“I think he knows,” Pete muttered as he noticed the elderly man leaning against the opposite wall, watching the group intently.

Breaking away and heading over, Pete picked up his speed as the man turned and headed for the bar. Noticing his limp, Pete slowed slightly, trying to look less conspicuous in the crowded tavern. As he approached the counter, the man was already ordering.

“I’m looking for two men,” he began only to be interrupted by the barman.  
“Two dupons.”

An awkward pause followed before the old man sighed and turned to stare meaningfully at Pete.

“I don’t have any money,” he shrugged. “Well, I have dollars…” he tapered off, certain that dollars would mean nothing to the Carouselians.  
“Well, I doubt you’re going to get very far in here if you can’t even buy me a drink,” the man downed the shot of dark blue liquid despite it still being unpaid for.  
“Two dupons, Spyvey,” the barman repeated.  
“I’ll have another,” he smiled at Pete who looked helplessly back.  
“That should cover it.”  
“Thanks,” the barman continued flatly as an arm reached between Pete and the man he had called Spyvey.

Looking to his right, Pete smiled faintly as he noticed the lime green sleeve and knew immediately that Donnie had come to the rescue. Thinking about the ever-expanding rescue party, he realised that now, Donnie was probably the only one left who had any local currency. Watching as the three silver coloured coins were exchanged he silently hoped that whatever Donnie had left would be enough to get the information they needed.

“So,” Spyvey turned the glass absently on the counter. “Two men?”  
“One of them looks like me,” Pete added, certain it would help.  
“Indeed he did.”  
“Did?” Pete asked nervously.  
“Foolish boy. Well, foolhardy at best. Far too trusting. Should have hired one of the weapons I offered him,” Spyvey announced as he downed the drink once more.  
“What happened?” Pete’s eyes widened.  
“Where is he?” Donnie pressed, now leaning over Pete’s shoulder having listened to the conversation.

Waggling the now empty glass, Spyvey smiled meaningfully causing Pete to roll his eyes as what he viewed an unnecessary delay. Waiting what felt a painfully long time for the barman to offer a refill, Pete repeated his question.

“Now?” Spyvey shrugged in a non-committal fashion. “No idea, but the Renderer is through there,” he added pointing to the small door at the rear of the tavern.

Turning at first to face the door, Pete turned immediately back to face Spyvey, but even in that briefest of moments, Donnie was gone, running to the door, pushing patrons aside to reach it faster. Throwing the door open with no regard for his own safety, Donnie gasped to see Francis, severely beaten and apparently unconscious, lying almost face down on the stone floor. By now Pete, Andy and Joe were all in the room swiftly followed by Laura.

“What’s happened?” Joe asked hurriedly. “Where’s Marcus?”  
“Francis!” Laura cried, shocked at the sight of his bruised and bleeding form.  
“Where’s Marcus?” Joe repeated only to be interrupted by a deep gravelly groan from Francis, now being comforted by the deeply concerned Laura.  
“They were waiting,” Francis croaked out. “Six, maybe seven. They knew who Marcus was… We didn’t stand a chance.”  
“Ssh,” Laura cooed stroking his brow and smoothing his hair. “You need to rest. Let me take care of you.”  
“Thank you,” he sighed, taking her hand and pressing it lightly to his bruised and swollen lips. “I don’t deserve you.”

Laura smiled faintly as she continued to caress his creased brow, unaware of the absolute accuracy of his statement.

“We need to find out what happened,” Pete pressed.  
“He’s hurt!” Laura protested.  
“It’s okay,” Francis insisted making a show of trying to sit up, pretending to collapse but saving himself from falling at the last moment, lapping up the attention as Laura came to his aid once more. “I know where they took him, I picked it up from them before I passed out.”  
“Let’s get you out of here and patched up,” Pete frowned. “We have to find them, and soon.”

Andy frowned as he noticed that Mister Crab hadn’t joined them in the room. Stepping through the door, quietly so as to attract no attention from either party, Andy’s brow creased with something between concern and confusion as he noticed Mister Crab chatting with Spyvey. Somehow a series of full glasses were lined up with a variety of coloured liquids almost overflowing each glass. What had Mister Crab picked up on that no one else had? Did Spyvey know more than he had told Pete and Donnie? Had Mister Crab known the right questions to ask? Had Pete missed something? More to the point, would Mister Crab volunteer the information? Andy had noticed that he played his cards very close to his chest, only supplying information when specifically asked. Mister Crab was certainly mysterious. Despite being told they knew a lot about him, Andy truly didn’t feel that they did. This was a man who was unfathomably old, extraordinarily powerful and apparently secretive. In reality, they knew next to nothing about him. Andy frowned; was Mister Crab really to be trusted?

*

Marcus’ breathing deepened and his eyes moved ever so slightly. Vaguely aware, the Sandman tried to get a feel for his surroundings before opening his eyes. He wasn’t exactly comfortable, but he was at the very least resting on something his upper body propped up on something hard and soft at the same time, the shape of which was indecipherable. But, despite his disorientation, he felt relaxed, safe, and surprisingly happy. It was as if he had just been woken by a Benzedrine.

“Marcus, I know you’re awake, because I’m very good at my job. Now for goodness sake open your eyes!” Silas stroked his brother’s hair as he lay propped up across his lap.  
“Silas?” Marcus cried, scrambling upright before turning and throwing his arms tightly around his brother. “Oh, Silas! You’re all right!”  
“They’ve got us both now, that’s hardly all right!” Silas replied, concerned for their situation while trying hard not to dampen the sheer joy of their reunion.  
“They’re going to try to kill father,” Marcus said miserably, “but at least he’s aware, he’s ready for them.”  
“Somehow I think their plans may have changed. They know who we are, I think they’ll use that to their advantage.”  
“What do you mean?” Marcus asked with uncertainty, unsure if he even wanted to hear the reply.  
“Before it was just a Sandman and a Benzedrine helping them attack Ruler Joshua, but they got more than they expected with us. Now they can threaten him and there’s nothing he can do about it.”

Marcus turned a grim expression towards his brother. Yes, he felt he had let his father down, but now he realised that it was much worse than he first believed.

“Where’s Patrick?” he asked quietly.  
“I don’t know,” Silas sighed. “They separated us, then they drugged me before taking me off the Stans Plate…”  
“You were on one of those things too!” Marcus cried, shocked by the idea and now concerned for his brother’s health. “Are you okay? No damage?”  
“I’m fine, Marcus, really. But I haven’t seen Patrick since, I’ve no idea if he’s okay or not. Are… Are you okay?”

Marcus looked down, trying to fight the stinging behind his eyes. Silas had always been the observant one and now it seemed he could see the pain that was threatening to crush him.

“Marcus,” Silas continued in a soothing way. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”  
“Father… I spoke to him, and mother. They told me to come home and not to risk trying to find you.”

Silas raised his eyebrows at the news.

“No, you don’t understand! Father wouldn’t tell me where to find you because he knew how I’d be. Headstrong and foolish,” he shook his head. “That I’d just rush in and get caught and that’s exactly what did happen! I’m sorry!” Marcus lowered his head. “I let you down… badly.”  
“You didn’t let me down,” Silas insisted. “But how did you find me?”  
“Laura couldn’t find you because of the Maktval…”  
“Laura? You found the slavers?” Silas smiled, happy to hear her name once more.  
“Yeah,” Marcus chewed his lip. “They’re dead. Shoe killed them, destroyed the ship utterly. I’ve never seen anything like it.”  
“Destroyed it?” Silas queried. “How?”  
Marcus shook his head. “Used his powers. It pretty much exploded. Everyone was dead.”  
“Except Laura?”  
“Oh, no, the slaves were okay,” Marcus sighed and looked down. “It was Francis, he betrayed me to Lady Constance’s lackeys.”  
“Francis? What?”  
“We went to negotiate for Patrick, they said they were selling him and he sold me out to them.”  
“He did what!” Silas cried. “I know I didn’t like him, but I didn’t think he’d do that!”  
“I don’t know why he did it. I guess he needed the money, maybe to impress Laura?”  
“Laura? But he hates Laura!” Silas frowned in confusion.  
“Well, he doesn’t now! He’s following her around like a stray valp!” Marcus shrugged. “She doesn’t seem all that interested though, it’s like she’s thinking about someone else.”  
“Yeah,” Silas sighed. “Me! And that’s why he betrayed you! The oldest reason - jealousy.”  
“You?” Marcus’ eyes widened.  
“Well, you don’t have to sound quite so surprised! I’m not a bad catch, really.”  
“Are you kidding me?” Marcus smirked. “You’re the best, I just didn’t see that coming. But it makes sense now. He’s risking bringing down the whole of Carousel for a girl who doesn’t even want him?”  
“Looks that way, but surely she won’t want him after what he’s done?”  
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll find a way to cover it up. I just hope they don’t all fall for it. He’s a Renderer, he told them he can get the information on where we’re being held. He won’t want us found, he’ll lead them right away from us!”


	18. Revenge!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip into Pete's mind to remove some memories becomes Francis's undoing

Henry frowned; it had been more than three hours and Patrick was still unconscious. Doctor Bernhardt had given him a relatively clean bill of health, but Henry had his suspicions. The doctor was only interested in himself and had had to quite literally be forced not to kill Patrick; in his mind at least, the Normal Worlder’s life had been set at nought.

“You only passed out,” he growled, “you shouldn’t need a Benzedrine!”  
“How did he get hurt?” Lady Constance asked, staring down at the sleeping singer. “Was it the Stans Plate?”  
“I don’t know, My Lady. That would be my guess, I don’t think Normal Worlders are as strong as we are.”  
“A significant failing,” Lady Constance exhaled, deeply unimpressed. “Tell me, why do we have him still? We have everything we need. This one is surplus to requirements, surely?”  
“For our initial plan, certainly, My Lady,” Henry replied with a smile.  
“We have more than one plan, Henry?” Allandra cocked her head to one side. “Do you not think that some sort of discussion should be entered into? After all, I think I’d like to be kept informed of any plans that include me.”  
“I’m sorry, My Lady,” Henry turned to face Allandra and bowed his head respectfully. “You know that I have only your interests at heart, but sometimes, it’s true, when an opportunity presents itself, I can get swept along.”  
“An opportunity?” Allandra’s tone bordered between haughty and curious.  
“Have you thought about what you would like to achieve once you have control of Carousel?” Henry asked, turning back to face Patrick as a crease appeared on his brow.  
“My dear, Henry, how far ahead are you thinking this time?”  
“Not very, My Lady, almost imminently, I believe.”  
“What do you have in mind?” she asked, intrigued. “I take it we need the Normal Worlder?”  
“Need? I don’t know that I’d go that far, My Lady, but he would certainly be useful, at least in the short term.”  
“Tell me more.”

Patrick groaned softly as he began to wake; slowly at first, finally squinting as he opened his eyes. Disorientated, his mouth parched and a blinding headache threatening to send him straight back to unconsciousness, the first words Patrick heard were Henry’s new plan.

“Once Joshua has abdicated, renounced his sons’ claim to the throne and we have you installed as Ruler of Carousel, wouldn’t you like to become the Ruler of Normal World too? We are much stronger than they are, even those of us without powers. We could easily take their world and you would be supreme ruler of both.”

“N… No!” Patrick stammered as he tried to find the strength to lunge at them.

Pushing himself from what appeared to be a padded examination couch, Patrick immediately fell to his knees, too weak to even support himself.

“See?” Henry laughed. “I told you, weak!”  
“Were you taking a risk with my safety, Henry?” Allandra asked coldly.  
“My Lady?” Henry asked uncertain and concerned by the question.  
“He collapsed, but there’s no way you could have known that would happen.”  
“On the contrary, My Lady,” Henry shook his head as Patrick slipped once more into unconsciousness. “He is severely dehydrated and has been seriously weakened on the Stans Plate. To be honest, you would have been in no danger, but I expected more. It shows you just how weak they are, they won’t stand a chance against you.”  
“Henry,” Allandra smiled, cupping his cheek. “You are my greatest asset and… I hope you realise, a little more than that.”  
Henry smiled, placing his hand over hers. “My Lady is… all I could wish for.”  
Lady Constance blushed pink at the words. “Henry, place the Normal Worlder in the cell with our illustrious brothers. Let the good doctor attend to him.”  
“Bernhardt?” Henry replied with an unimpressed scowl.  
Allandra laughed at the idea. “No, I said the _good_ doctor. I mean the Benzedrine.”  
“Ah!” Henry smiled. “Yes, of course My Lady.”

Watching as Lady Constance turned and swept gracefully from the room, Henry looked down at the slumped form of Patrick lying in an uncomfortable looking position on the floor.

_I’m sorry Patrick, the Plate has left you even weaker than I thought. I hope you remember what you heard me say. I’m relying on you to inform Their Highnesses._

Unaware that Patrick would have remained oblivious to his thoughts even if he had been awake, Henry called for assistance to have Patrick transported to the cell. He hoped fervently that Patrick would recover. Yes, right now, things as they were, Ruler Joshua would probably ascribe less importance to the Normal Worlder, but, nevertheless, he had placed Patrick under his protection and protect him he would, with his life if necessary.

*

It was late and a little cold. Ceramistten was, if it followed the same natural rules as Normal World, was, Pete mused, probably considerably north of The Hills and Es Galleons. As the night had drawn in, Pete had felt a definite chill in the air and pulled his hoodie close around him. To his annoyance, Mister Crab had decided that… No, insisted that Francis was too hurt to travel and they needed to stay where they were, at least for the evening. He would review the situation in the morning. Despite Francis removing their need for sleep, Joe, Andy and Pete were all feeling a little edgy. Perhaps it was that they still needed sleep but just had the feeling bypassed. Perhaps it was worry for their friends but Joe and Andy decided to take the opportunity to catch up with a few hours rest. Pete was edgy too, but he had already decided that it wasn’t just lack of sleep, if it was that at all. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong; he just couldn’t put his finger on it. Was he so tired he wasn’t thinking straight or was the problem really that elusive? Zipping up his hoodie, Pete pushed himself from the floor near the camp fire and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Pete?” Mister Crab asked. “Where are you going?”  
“I need a walk,” he sighed. “Clear my head. Don’t worry, I won’t go far.”  
“Be sure that it’s you that clears your head,” Mr Crab smiled, before closing his eyes and lying back in the grass.

Pete frowned in return. Whatever he meant, he clearly wasn’t intending on elaborating. Shrugging and shaking his head, Pete turned only to almost bump into Donnie.

“What did he say to you?” the Catcher asked, still more than a little concerned that Mister Crab hadn’t shared the content of his conversation with Spyvie with the group.  
“You know,” Pete frowned. “I really don’t know.”  
“I saw him talking with Spyvie at the bar,” he confided. “When we were in the back room.”  
“So?” Pete shrugged again, unsure what to make of Donnie’s comment.  
“He didn’t tell us about it,” Donnie explained.  
“Did you ask?” Pete replied still uncertain why everyone from Carousel was so scared to approach Mister Crab on even a conversational level.  
“But… He’s… No…” Donnie struggled to reply.  
“I really don’t understand you people,” Pete sighed as he stepped past the dumbstruck Catcher.

Walking less than a hundred yards from the fire, Pete stopped, his brow creased with concern. In the dim evening light he saw a figure standing with his back to him, hunched forward slightly. Even in the much reduced light, he could easily make out the shape as belonging to Francis. Half turning, he could see where Francis had been lying near the fire. Beside the space he had occupied lay Laura. Pete frowned deeply as he tried to remember him even standing up, never mind walking away. Pete wondered if his memory had failed him or, more disturbingly, if Francis had used his powers to actually remove the memory. Now thinking about it for a little longer, Pete sighed with relief as the image of Francis rising and walking away from the group huddled around the fire came back into what he was sure was an over-tired mind. Turning at the sound of the sigh, Francis froze as he stared at Pete now looking back in his direction. At first, it didn’t register, and if Donnie hadn’t paid for Spyvie’s drinks in the tavern, Pete doubted he would have even made the connection, but the glint of silver in Francis’ hands told an unnervingly disturbing tale.

“Money?” Pete questioned. “Where did you…” Pete’s eyes widened as he realised what could be the only possible source of Francis’ coins.

Shoving the payoff for his treachery into his pocket, Francis stretched out his arm and gestured with his hand. Pete wanted desperately to turn and run, to raise the alarm, to let someone know what they were dealing with, but he was frozen to the spot. Staring, wide-eyed and fearful, Pete felt that the more he tried to move, the more firmly he was held in place.

“Normal Worlders!” Francis spat. “Why can’t you be content with your stupidity? Why do you have to try to get involved with things that don’t concern you?”  
“They’re here, aren’t they?” Pete struggled even to speak. “In Ceramistten? They’re here, but you’re trying to take us somewhere else.”  
“Eddoo River,” Francis replied with a smirk. “My district. Somewhere where, on my say so, I can have you all arrested or even quietly killed and no one would know.”  
“Why?” Pete frowned trying hard not to give up his attempts to break free of Francis’ control. “We freed you.”  
“You can’t possibly be _that_ naive!”  
“I thought people with powers were supposed to be good,” Pete replied, ignoring his baiting.  
“And what makes you think I’m not?”  
“You just threatened to kill us,” Pete whispered, the volume of his voice now also under Francis’ control.  
“But not using my powers,” Francis smirked as he stepped forward. “There are so many loop holes in the rules. Maktvals and Stans Plates were invented to hold criminals with powers. Didn’t that tell you that we don’t actually have to be good people?” Clasping his hands either side of Pete’s head, Francis’ smirk broadened until he allowed a cruel laugh to escape his lips. “And now, I discover another loop hole. The rule against not hurting people only applies to Carouselians. You, my friend, are about to lose all memory of this and perhaps a little more besides.”

*

“Why are you doing this?” Pete whispered hoarsely.  
“I fancy my chances with Laura,” he replied with a smug grin. “Seems to be working too, she seems the type to want to look after a guy. Asking the men who wanted the Sandman to beat me up was inspired. She can’t do enough to help me.”  
“You’re threatening to kill eight people over a girl?” Pete’s eyes widened in shock.  
“No,” Francis shook his head briefly. “I’m not threatening any more, I’m going to do it. “  
“You don’t think she’ll notice that?” Pete asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm.  
Francis laughed in return. “You forget, I’m a Renderer, I can remove all of her memories of you, all of you, including that damn Benzedrine!”  
“Silas?” Pete suddenly realised the true problem, the reason he had to get them off the scene. “She likes Silas?”  
“Indeed she does, and while there’s a chance he’s alive or can be freed, I’ll never get anywhere.” Francis frowned. “But it doesn’t matter, they’ll never release him, not him or the Sandman. I had no idea they were Lord Joshua’s sons, even the slavers didn’t know.”  
“Then how do you know?” Pete frowned.  
Francis laughed. “I might as well tell you, you’ll have forgotten everything in a few minutes anyway. While I was there, they linked their thoughts to another man, I bypassed theirs and read his. With their minds connected, he wouldn’t have noticed mine but I kept myself concealed anyway. He was one of Lady Constance Allandra’s associates, someone close enough to know her plans. They intend to force Lord Joshua to abdicate, naming Allandra as his successor. With his sons as their prisoners there really isn’t any way he can refuse, at least not and have them survive. Though I doubt she’ll let any of them live anyway. One way or another, the Benzedrine is out of the picture.”  
“You…” Pete began, filled with anger and frustration at his inability to move even a finger. Francis had told him everything but not only was he unable to act on the information, within moments he would forget every detail he had been told. He would return to his previous unaware and trusting state. It was beyond frustrating.  
“Don’t threaten me,” Francis growled. “There are so many more things I could do to you, most of which are extremely painful.”

Pete felt his eyes closing. It was an involuntary action and he frowned unhappily and with dread as he sensed Francis forcing his way into his mind. Weakening as he did, Pete gasped in surprise at the sensation of his presence.

_“What’s this?” Francis queried in surprise at the surroundings._

_Standing on the banks of the Lyric River, Francis looked up at the looming towers of misshapen boxes, fearful that they might topple any moment. Stepping to the side,he looked around. Taking in the scene, he saw everything that Marcus had when he had entered Pete’s mind: the river, the peaceful hill on the opposite bank, the tiny humming birds that he had not yet realised were flying miniature bass guitars, the giant mincer that fed the river with additional words, sounds and pictures. Beyond all that he could see the mountains spreading off into the distance, each made from closely packed half-formed ideas and imagery._

_“You’re not used to this, are you?” a voice commented at his shoulder._

_Turning quickly, still thrown by the landscape, Francis stepped back suddenly as who he thought was Doctor Benzedrine looked up at him with a sly smile fixed on his face. Realising within moments that it was probably Patrick, and then only an imaginary version of him, Francis tried to force himself to calm down, but the surprise and almost shock had already rattled him._

_“What is this?” Francis repeated. “Where are the files?”_   
_“What were you expecting?” Patrick laughed. “A neat orderly system?”_   
_“It should be!” Francis seemed genuinely confused. “How can you exist like this?”_   
_“Welcome to Pete,” Patrick smirked. “If you think you’re in trouble now, you don’t know the half of it!”_   
_“What do you mean?” Francis asked nervously, confused and concerned by the vaguely threatening statement. Watching as Patrick took a few steps back, Francis repeated his question. “What do you mean?”_

_The humming grew louder, deeper, closer and Francis frowned deeply, trying to establish the location of the noise. Only moments later a deep throbbing hum flew past his ear and he finally spotted the tiny flying guitars, each only a few inches long. Only a handful at first, but the hum grew more intense and the sky darkened. What seemed an entire squadron was homing in on him rapidly, each of them, he now noticed, had the heads honed to a razor-sharp point. The strings appeared loose from the machine heads and moving as if animated with a life of their own. He had expected a tidy and orderly filing system from which he could easily pluck the memories he wanted to remove, but instead he had plunged into seeming chaos and was being attacked. It was nothing like he had or even could have expected and he was frightened to say the very least. Turning to run, Francis almost fainted on the spot. Frozen in terror, the Renderer stared unblinking at the animal before him. He had no idea what it was, only that it was almost twice his height and was standing, staring, and bearing sharp, teeth, dripping with fetid saliva._

_“Hemmy doesn’t like you,” Patrick advised, explaining nothing to the terrified man._   
_“What is it?” Francis whispered, staring, pale and shaking, at the oversized bulldog._   
_“Pete’s guardian,” Patrick explained as the spear-like bass guitars began to slice past Francis, tearing at his clothes and skin. “If I were you, I’d be afraid.”_

Scratched and bloodied, Francis pulled back, reeling in terror as he retreated from Pete’s mind. Releasing Pete from his physical and mental hold over him, Francis found himself falling backwards to the ground. Slumping at the same time, Pete managed to retain consciousness, gasping for breath as he too landed awkwardly on the floor.

“Don’t think I’m…” Francis began only to freeze up as he looked around. Standing over him and to the left were Joe and Andy with Laura at their side. To the right, Donnie glared down at the shaken Renderer while Mr Crab stood centrally, his expression unreadable.

“Where are they?” Donnie demanded as Joe helped Pete to his feet.  
“What do you mean?” Francis’ voice shook.  
“What did you do to him?” Donnie continued angrily, not even bothering to answer the Renderer’s question.

Waving his hand lightly as if to silence but at the same time reassure, Mister Crab turned a harsh stare towards Francis.

“You have made a mockery of my gift,” he finally spoke. The words were softly spoken, yet somehow severe and threatening. Francis stared up, both unnerved and scared.

“N… No,” he stammered. “It’s not what you think.”

Without even looking to Pete for reassurance, Mr Crab stared harshly. He had never before seemed threatening but now, even the gathered band members and Carouselians were subdued by his very presence.

“Francis, do not try to fool me. You know exactly who I am, what I am, but unfortunately for you, you are completely unaware of what I can do. Let me consider your crimes.”  
“I’ve committed no crime!” Francis insisted, yet even as he looked up, he knew that none of them believed him for a moment.

Surrounded, weakened and having awoken the wrath of the most powerful man in Carousel, Francis fleetingly considered fleeing or even fighting, but let all those thoughts go as he saw the deepening smirk from Mr Crab aimed directly at him.

“You don’t really think that you’ll succeed with either of those choices do you?” Mr Crab asked, his head cocked slightly to his right.  
“No,” Francis whispered.  
“No,” Mr Crab confirmed. “You used your powers to desiccate a woman.”  
“She was threatening Laura.”  
“A woman you hated until you noticed how she responded to another man’s tenderness. You saw something not that you wanted, but that you wanted to take.”  
“It wasn’t like that!”  
“You set up the trap for Marcus…” Mr Crab continued only to be interrupted.  
“I didn’t set it up!”  
“You led him in and used your powers of telepathy to ensure that there was no escape for him, did you not?”

Francis merely stared in return, refusing to answer.

“You threatened to kill us all and used your powers to try to pull the memory of the discovery of your crimes from Pete. All those years trapped within a dream, I did not see the misuse and dangerous ambiguity of my bestowed powers but I will correct at least one mistake here and now.”  
“Wh… What are you going to do?” Francis asked, clearly terrified. “Don’t I get to defend myself?”  
“You are indefensible!” Mr Crab shouted angrily.

Raising a hand, Mr Crab made a complicated gesture, apparently mouthing a few words at the same time. As he did, Francis’ back arched so deeply, it was as if he was being lifted from the floor. Screaming and gasping in pain, the man hung limply in the air, now four feet off the ground, his back still arched and his feet and arms hanging below him.

“You are a disgrace,” Mr Crab spat. “Pete, you may choose his punishment.”  
“Wh… What!” Pete cried, now on his feet. “I… I can’t…”

Mr Crab turned a confused eye toward Pete, simply not understanding why he seemed so reluctant to choose and pass a sentence.

“I will!” Donnie growled.  
“Me too!” it began with Joe, but soon the chorus of the words followed from everyone.  
“No,” Pete insisted before pausing. “Take his powers.”  
“You may have whatever punishment you wish,” Mister Crab insisted.  
“I can’t ask you to do what I think you want,” Pete paled at the idea. “I can’t.”

Reluctant to say anything that might cause Mr Crab to take another life, even one that had threatened them all, Pete merely stared, wide-eyed until finally he found the words he wanted.

“Take his powers,” he stammered again.  
“You understand that I can do anything you want?” Mr Crab reminded him.  
“I know,” Pete sighed. “But… Take his powers. It’s enough.”

A silence descended over the group; the initial vengeful anger dissipating as Francis hung in the air occasionally gasping and whimpering, awaiting Pete’s decision.

“Pete’s right,” Joe said quietly, the memory of his horror as he realised Mr Crab had killed the slavers returning.  
“Very well,” Mr Crab nodded.  
“Wait,” Laura spoke quietly. “I want to know why he did it.”

Mister Crab righted the Renderer, holding him firmly, preventing him using even the smallest power, as Laura stared defiantly.

“Why?” she asked. “You hated me. Did you only just want to stop me being with him?”  
“Whatever I say, you won’t like,” he finally managed.  
“Just tell me the truth,” she demanded. “Can’t you make him?” Laura turned to face Mr Crab.

Nodding slowly, Mr Crab stared at Francis who looked as though he was trying hard to hold something inside that was desperate to burst from his lips.

“I… I never hated you! I was bitter and blamed you then _he_ arrived and you wanted him. I was jealous, okay? I was jealous that he’d managed to say all the things I’d wanted to but couldn’t. I hated him for that and wanted you all the more! Are you happy?”

Turning to Mr Crab, her large, pretty eyes, glistening with tears, Laura nodded.

“Do it.”  
“I will remove his powers, but, that won’t prevent him from continuing his ways,” Mr Crab frowned.  
“What are you going to do?” Francis’ voice faltered.  
“Remove your powers, alter your thoughts to prevent your selfish and greedy actions and transport you to a penal colony.”  
“No!” Francis’ eyes widened. “But after five years they’ll…”

Raising his hand, Mr Crab silenced Francis as the powers were torn from his mind and body causing the now ex-Renderer to hang limply in the air once more before fading from view.

“What did he mean?” Andy began. “After five years… What happens?”  
“They’re executed,” Donnie replied in a hushed tone.  
“But I said…” Pete interrupted.  
“Marcus and Silas have the authority to have him released,” Mr Crab interrupted. “The final decision will lie with them. We should find them, soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Hope you're still enjoying this! Roughly 6 chapters to go! Thanks for reading, kudos and commenting! It's all appreciated! Sas xx


	19. Have you ever wanted to disappear?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick, Benzedrine and Sandman make plans and Benzedrine describes the fantastical world that is inside Patrick's mind

The voices were echoing in his mind. Dulled and somehow distant, Patrick found his still semi-conscious mind struggling to make out the words. Growing louder and apparently closer, the words filtered through the fog that separated him from unconsciousness and finally began to make sense.

“Is he waking? Is he going to be all right?”  
“Marcus, will you please just sit back and let me finish?”

Recognising his own voice should have been easier than it was, but Patrick realised after a few moments who was speaking.

“Silas?” he slurred, unaware that his attempt to speak sounded incomprehensible to his two companions.  
“Patrick!” Marcus cried excitedly. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”  
“Marcus!” Silas scolded before resetting his concentration. “Waking a Normal Worlder isn’t the same as a Carouselian. They… Their minds are… well, chaotic to say the least.”  
“Tell me about it!” Marcus leaned back against the wall as Silas continued to wake Patrick as gently as he could. “I went into Pete’s mind after Laura tried to find him. I’ve never seen anything like it!”  
“Laura tried to find him?” Silas asked, so surprised by the statement that he paused his efforts to wake Patrick. “How?”  
“What do you mean, how?” Marcus asked momentarily taken aback by the question.  
“Well, he doesn’t have a power, what did she have to latch on to?”  
“Oh!” Marcus considered Silas’ question. He hadn’t given it a moment’s thought before now and even after he had discovered her inside Pete’s mind it had not occurred to him to ask exactly how she had located him, he had simply been content to know that she had. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I didn’t ask.”  
“The lyrics,” Patrick groaned. “I gave her some lyrics that Pete had written, she found him using them.”

Silas smiled broadly as the conversation turned to Laura. Finding Pete using his lyrics had been a very clever thing to do and Silas was quietly impressed by her abilities; it had almost certainly been a key factor in bringing them all together. As his thoughts finally drifted back to the original point, he wondered how she and Marcus had managed to deal with Pete’s mind. This had now been the second time that he had woken Patrick and he slowly was growing familiar with the intricacies of the minds of Normal Worlders, but at first it had certainly been very confusing for him.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “That was pretty impressive. It’s… Ah… quite different in there, isn’t it?”  
“You’ve been in Pete’s mind too?” Marcus asked with curiosity.  
“No, Patrick’s,” Silas corrected. “Twice.”  
“What’s that like?” Marcus asked, now leaning forward, hungry for the details.  
“I’m sure it can’t be much different to Pete’s,” Silas smiled, almost laughed at the memory.  
“I can’t believe there’s anything quite like Pete’s mind!” Marcus argued. “Tell me!”  
“I’d… uh… I’d like to know too,” Patrick’s voice was full of curiosity and sounding considerably less slurred as he spoke again.

Smiling at the pair of them and satisfied that Patrick was now fully awake and well recovered from the ordeal he had suffered, Silas shuffled back until he leaned back against the wall of the cell.

“It’s a very strange place, nothing like our minds,” he admitted. “There are no cabinets, no files and nothing carefully ordered the way it should be… or, at least the way we’re used to,” Silas corrected himself, concerned about causing offence. “There are two distinct sides. One ordered, to a point, but the other is… well it’s just so peaceful. On one side, as far as the eye can see, a beautiful forest. The trees are so tall as to almost touch the sky, but the light still manages to shine through the canopy. The forest floor is thick with a carpet of brown and gold fallen leaves, but they make very little sound when you walk on them. Even though there’s such a blanket of leaves, there’s still a good enough covering on the trees to stop it looking bleak. It’s as though they’ve just started to fall. There’s a gentle, soft breeze that skims warmly over your face and it’s just so calm and peaceful. Through the centre, there’s a river, but there’s no water in it, just… I don’t know how to explain this, but… instead of water, there’s a melody, a constantly flowing, ever changing melody. As it rushes over rocks it changes a tone and grows louder. Gentle rock pools sound like a lullaby. In the distance there’s a waterfall, frothing and misting with a torrent of notes played by a dozen instruments crashing down in a crescendo of… I was going to say noise, but it’s not, it sounds like an orchestra warming up, but loud and constant. But then, by the time it filters down the river it becomes this beautiful melody, swirling, harmonising with itself. It’s simply mesmerising.”

Patrick stared in disbelief as Silas described the scene playing out in his own mind. He could barely believe it, but Silas wasn’t finished.

“And the other side?” Marcus prompted, remembering Pete’s mind’s layout. “Is it different? Is there a bridge?”  
“Yeah!” Silas’ brow creased as he wondered how Marcus could possibly know that detail. “There’s a white stone bridge and on both sides the keystone has a really unusual carving of a keyhole with an eye looking through it. On the other side of the bridge is a mill.”  
“A mill?” Patrick and Marcus interrupted almost simultaneously.

Silas laughed; the expressions on both their faces mirrored each other in their confusion, but he continued:

“Yes, an old fashioned water mill. The river feeds the wheel and as it flows into the building itself, the individual notes and part formed melodies are combined and fashioned into verses, choruses, bridges and breaks.”  
“You know the terms?” Marcus raised his eyebrows at his brother’s knowledge of the Normal Worlders’ musical jargon.  
“No, I don’t need to know, it’s all there,” Silas shook his head. “All the rooms are filled with shelves and boxes, all neatly labelled and carefully stored. There are at least a dozen rooms in the mill and each one has music stored in a different key, each shelf glistening and shining with a silent but beautiful golden or silver globe filled with music.”

By now, Patrick’s jaw had dropped. The idea that Silas’ description could even exist was a fantastical one, but that the source was his own mind was simply beyond comprehension. And yet, it was about to get stranger still.

“Is anyone in there?” Marcus asked with a knowing smirk.  
“Excuse me?” Patrick’s eyes widened at the question, while Silas smiled, realising now that Pete’s mind must have presented a similar pattern.  
“Pete,” he confirmed to Marcus’ delight.  
“Pete!” Patrick gasped in astonishment. “In my mind?”

Silas and Marcus were, by now, both grinning and exchanging meaningful glances.

“He’s your guardian,” Silas explained. “He says he’s always there, he says it’s the only time you get to control him!”

Patrick frowned. He wasn’t entirely convinced that he liked the idea of Pete being constantly wandering around inside his mind, but at the same time, he couldn’t describe himself as remotely surprised. Despite there being no actual family connection, their close friendship set them as much like brothers as Marcus and Silas and, as older brother, it seemed perfectly natural that Pete would be his guardian. Turning his gaze between the pair, Patrick reached a conclusion.

“Do I take it that I’m wandering about inside Pete’s mind?”  
“Yeah,” Marcus chuckled.  
“Am I his guardian too?” Patrick asked becoming intrigued.  
“No,” Marcus frowned. “Oddly enough his guardian is a… I don’t know what it is, but he called it Hemmy.”

Patrick leaned back and laughed, nodding as he did.

“Oh, yeah,” he grinned, “that makes total sense! Oh, and Hemmy’s a dog.”  
“A dog?” Marcus turned a blank expression to the singer.  
“Like a valp, I think,” Silas explained.  
“Oh!” Marcus nodded with realisation. “I had seen it before, when I’d been watching him. I had no idea what it was. Odd little thing, quite sweet though.”  
“So, that’s my mind is it?” Patrick’s mouth twitched as he thought about it. “Wow… weird!”  
“Well, I’m glad you said it!” Silas sighed. “But… Now you’re awake. Are you okay? The Stans Plate? Did it harm you at all? When they brought you in… I was worried. You were unconscious, but they hadn’t drugged you.”  
Patrick gave the question a few moments thought. “No, I think I’m okay. I can’t really remember…” Frowning momentarily as a memory returned, Patrick drew similar expressions from his cellmates.   
“What’s wrong?” Marcus asked with concern, with Silas reaching for Patrick’s wrist as the singer paled.  
“Pulse is okay,” he murmured, lowering his hand.  
“I… I woke up after I’d been taken off the Stans Plate. They were there, Henry and Lady Constance. They were talking. I think they thought I was asleep, but I… I can’t believe I forgot!”  
“It’s okay, it’s perfectly normal,” Silas rushed the words before asking the question he was hurrying towards. “What did they say?” he asked certain he knew that something terrible was coming.  
“They’re going to make your father abdicate and have him name Lady Constance as his successor.”  
“What?” Marcus cried, wide-eyed with disbelief.  
“That’s not all,” Patrick’s lips thinned to almost a pale line as he frowned at the mere thought of what he had to say next. “They’re crossing over into my world to take that too!”  
“No! They can’t do that! We have to stop them?” Marcus was almost hyperventilating in distress at the news. “We have to get out of here!”

Noticing that Silas had remained silent and wore a frown of concentration, Marcus’ panicked reaction almost froze as he turned a puzzled and questioning gaze.

“Silas?” he asked, almost begging his brother to have something comforting or hopeful to say.  
“I think we’re on our own,” he muttered bitterly, believing Henry had betrayed them.  
Marcus’ brow creased, not understanding. “But weren’t we anyway?”  
Silas sighed, cursing what he now believed his own stupidity. “I guess. Okay,” his voice shook slightly as his dispirited mind tried to salvage an escape plan. “I guess I can make myself effectively invisible again and…”  
“And then they threaten me and you’re forced to show yourself,” Marcus pointed out flatly.  
Sighing noisily, Silas threw up his arms in distress. “Well, do you have a better idea?”

Marcus stared unhappily at his younger brother. He wanted desperately to have a better idea; to have any idea would have been helpful. He was the older brother, he was supposed to protect his kid brother, but instead, here he was locked in the same cell. Slowly, his expression changed and his hand reached for the inside of his coat, his fingers closing on the outline of the small bottle and packets tucked inside his pocket.

“What?” Silas asked, a hopeful smile plucking at the ends of his mouth.  
“When we arrived in Es Galleons and Patrick was taken I found out what happened from an apothecary.”

At the word, Silas snorted his disgust and scowled heavily at the mention of the word. Marcus couldn’t help but smile at the reaction.

“I know you don’t like them,” the Sandman smirked.  
“It’s not a case of not liking,” Silas explained calmly. “It’s that they’re frauds, charlatans and liars!”  
Marcus laughed, smiling broadly as Silas stared harshly at him. “Not everyone’s a doctor or a pharmacier.”  
“And not everyone pretends to be able to do a job when they clearly can’t!” Silas snapped, his professional pride stung. “How would you like it if someone pretended they could make people sleep? It’s illegal, you know.”  
“I know,” Marcus agreed soothingly. “But this one had Worm Root, Carrow Tips and Bantin.”

Silas stared at his brother for a few moments with Patrick, in turn staring at him awaiting a reaction to the strange comment. Certainly, Marcus appeared pleased with himself as he announced the short list of what appeared to be ingredients. After what felt like a long twenty seconds, Silas pushed himself forward and flung his arms around his brother’s neck.

“Oh, you genius!” he cried.   
“I have a potion bottle too,” he grinned, enjoying his brother’s affection and approval after feeling earlier as though he had made things infinitely worse.  
“What?” Patrick prompted. “What is that? What will it do?”

Both brothers turned, grinning towards their friend.

“Patrick?” Silas began with a mischievous expression. “Have you ever wanted to disappear?” 

*

An awkward silence hung in the air as, for a few moments, everyone turned and looked at Mister Crab. He was certainly mysterious. Secretive and behaving just outside what most people, be they Normal Worlders or Carouselians, would consider typical. Pete frowned as the last words Mister Crab had spoken to him before he walked away from the fire came back to him.

“You knew,” he said as he stepped forward, approaching Mister Crab with what bordered on an accusatory stare. All eyes turned to look at him as he awaited a response, only Donnie having some vague idea to what he may have been referring. “You knew exactly what he was going to do, didn’t you?”

Mister Crab turned his head slightly to look over at Pete, his expressionless eyes staring deep into him.

“I don’t think that now is the time,” he replied dismissively before turning, only for his arm to be pulled back by the angry bassist.  
“You knew! And now is exactly the right time!”  
“You spoke with Spyvie in the bar,” Donnie added nervously, fearful of questioning one of The Originals, a man he felt he should kneel to. “I saw you.”  
“And now you don’t trust me?”  
“No!” Pete snapped. “I don’t!”

Donnie gasped at the response, as did Laura, with Joe merely watching the exchange with knitted brows.

“Mister Crab,” Donnie began. “Please don’t be angry. We do trust you,” he turned a pleading expression towards Pete and nodded expectantly. “Don’t we?” he added.  
“No!” Pete folded his arms across his chest, his expression hardening. “We don’t.”  
“Pete!” Donnie hissed in alarm.  
“You told me when I walked away to clear my head to be sure that I was the one clearing my head. You knew what he was going to do to me. But you didn’t warn me, you didn’t stop me or him! No, I don’t trust you!”  
“I think,” Andy finally cut in after having heard the explanation for Pete’s doubt. “I think Pete means that we’re confused. Why didn’t you stop him?”

Mister Crab turned a confused eye towards Andy, before looking around the rest of the group only to see Andy’s concern mirrored in all their expressions, even if they had said nothing, they agreed with him.

“You think I did nothing?” he replied simply. “I warned you, Pete, you weren’t aware of the specific meaning, but you were on edge, you were careful as you approached him.”  
“I wouldn’t have approached him at all if I’d know he was going to do that!”  
“And you would never have discovered everything he knew, would you?” Mister Crab explained simply.   
“He could have made me forget everything, he could have killed me!” Pete argued, suddenly feeling he was fighting a losing battle.  
“No,” Mister Crab shook his head. “I was with you the whole time. Who do you think marshalled your mind’s defences against him? I’m sorry, Pete, but you were simply not strong enough to fight him. The layout of your mind might have confused him, as it would confuse anyone, but I fought him for you.”  
“You?” Pete frowned. He had been overwhelmed by Francis’ presence in his mind, so much so that he had not even realised that Mister Crab was there also.

Each of the gathered people turned confused glances towards each other. Francis had been caught in the act, punished and removed to a penal colony. He had done that certainly, but why had he done nothing to prevent it?

“Ah!” Mister Crab nodded. “You want to know why I allowed it to go so far?” Pausing while he acknowledged the series of nods from the group, Mister Crab smiled. “I spoke to Spyvie in the bar. He’s a Special Forces Agent in the Guard investigating slavers and their buyers. No one suspects him as he’s so old and walks with a limp, but he is a very clever man. He offered Marcus a weapon to defend himself, but sadly, he refused. He told me that on this occasion the sellers had remained anonymous but that he knew that Francis was not to be trusted.”  
“How did he know?” Joe asked.  
“Special Forces Agent,” Donnie repeated, as if the words alone would explain everything.  
“I told you, he’s a very clever man, trained to see the smallest of details and around him, people are less guarded.”  
“You didn’t tell us that Francis couldn’t be trusted,” Laura frowned before adding guiltily. “We were worried about him… I… I was fooled by him.”  
“And it was important that you behaved normally around him until he slipped. He was a Renderer, If you had known all this, he would have found it easily in your thoughts. That’s why I insisted we stay here tonight.”

It all sounded so plausible, so reasonable. So, Joe mused, why did he still have his doubts?

“I think it is important that we get some sleep now,” he nodded. “We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Pete yawned as Mister Crab spoke the words. It was the first time since Francis had removed their need to sleep that he had felt tired. Was it the power of suggestion? Had Mister Crab done something to them to make them feel suddenly sleepy. 

“Now Francis’ powers are gone, your need to sleep has returned,” he explained as if he had heard Pete’s thoughts. Now smiling as Pete pondered this very question, Pete was left in no doubt that he had heard his thoughts and continued to do so. “Joe, when everyone else is settled, we will talk,” he nodded.

Joe frowned, now drawing the same conclusions as Pete, but both of them oblivious to the fact.

“Do you know everything?” Joe asked suddenly drawing all eyes.  
Mister Crab smiled in response before repeating himself. “When everyone is settled we’ll talk.”

Andy raised an eyebrow. After a mysterious reply like that, how was anyone supposed to sleep? Let alone stop asking questions! Before the thought had even completely left his mind, he was finding it difficult to keep his eyes open, concentrating was becoming impossible and all he wanted was a long and comfortable rest. Vaguely aware that the small group was now walking, almost stumbling back to the fire, Andy followed, no longer questioning the response. Joe alone remained fully conscious and aware. Whether Mister Crab was keeping him awake or putting the others to sleep was a question that he was at a loss to answer. What he did know was that he had a chance to find out more. He would ask questions, questions he hoped that Mister Crab would answer and answer fully. He wanted to trust him, he really did. So far Mister Crab had done nothing but help them, even save their lives, but his behaviour was so shrouded in mystery it was hard not to doubt him. Perhaps if he could find out why, maybe he could understand? Placing a hand on his back, Mister Crab steered Joe to a clearing a little way from the fire. Lost in his own thoughts, Joe hadn’t even noticed that the rest of the group had wasted no time in settling down by the fire and sleeping. Even Pete was lying peacefully by the comforting flames.

“You may ask me anything, and I will answer truthfully.”

That in itself could have been a lie, but Joe nodded, grateful for the opportunity to find out more.

*

“How The Hills did you manage to keep that hidden?” Patrick raised an eyebrow as Marcus withdrew the large potion bottle and herb packets from his coat’s inside pocket.

Earning a broad grin from the Sandman as he noticed Patrick’s use of their own expression, he explained:

“This isn’t just an amazing looking coat, Patrick,” Marcus replied, almost preening the black and gold semi-sheer material. “It’s a dream coat. My Spinners and Weavers made it for me as a Governorship gift. It has pockets that only I can see. Even Silas can’t see them, not even another Sandman. When I put things into them, they’re stored in temporary dreams that remain self-contained and open at all times. It’s true, yes, I can store anything in a dream any time I like, but the pockets are very useful, because, well, first of all, I don’t have to remember where I put them and it’s good for small personal stuff. Technically, if I store something in a dream, any Sandman can retrieve them, but not this. This is entirely mine and in here, where the use of my powers is restricted by the maktval, it’s invaluable. If I’d stored these in a regular dream, I wouldn’t have been able to retrieve them, not with the maktval in place.”  
“But it’s only over the bars, isn’t it?” Patrick asked hesitantly.  
“No,” Silas shook his head as Marcus handed him the objects. “That’s just the part you can see. It’s embedded into the walls, ceiling and floor too. That’s why we can’t do anything, and why Laura won’t be able to find us.”  
“Maybe all that time we spent on the Stans Plates would have given her time?” Patrick suggested hopefully.  
“Shoe’ll find us,” Marcus added confidently. “If we’re lucky.”  
“He’s here?” Silas asked, pausing as he opened the packets. “And… And you’re calling him Shoe?” he stammered.  
“He didn’t want us using his last name in Es Galleons,” Marcus explained, earning a nod of understanding from Silas.

Pausing for a few moments, Silas handed the bottle and herbs back to Marcus. Taking the items, Marcus offered a frown of confusion. Had Silas changed his mind over their usefulness? Had he got the ingredients wrong?

“You do it,” Silas smiled. “You know how.”  
“But…” Marcus began. “It’s been a while, what if I get it wrong? And I don’t know how strong to make it.”  
“Make how you used to when we were little,” Silas encouraged.  
“Silas,” Marcus gasped. “That’s very weak. Will it be enough?”

Silas managed an embarrassed expression, happy that Patrick answered for him.

“Apparently Normal Worlders are very weak.”  
“Oh!” It was Marcus’ turn to look embarrassed. “Yes… Ah… I’ll just make the stuff.”

Patrick smiled; he liked Silas and Marcus a great deal. Enough that he had confidence in them that they knew exactly what they were doing and he was safe in their hands. Possibly, he had to admit, more so Silas than Marcus, but he knew the well-intentioned Sandman would never do anything to deliberately hurt him.

“So, this will make me disappear?” he asked, hoping they would expand on their plans.  
“Yeah, we used to use this all the time when we were kids,” Silas explained with a mischievous expression that Patrick had never seen on the usually serious Benzedrine before. “We’d slip into the Guardhouse and move things around and scare the cadets.”  
“Your father’s the Captain of The Guard, and pretty strict,” Patrick replied, surprised but smiling at the infectious sense of fun radiating from the two brothers. “Didn’t you get into trouble?”

Silas turned a broad smile to Marcus, their eyes locked in what Patrick could see was a happy reminiscence.

“All the time,” Marcus returned the grin.  
“Come on,” Silas prompted gently. “Let’s do this.”  
“What exactly are we doing?” Patrick asked, knowing that disappearing was only part of it.  
Silas nodded. “Marcus, you make the mixture, there’s some water over there, and I’ll explain.”


	20. Mr Crab's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr Crab tells his story to Joe and Silas and Marcus have a heart to heart

Patrick laughed at the question; the surprise of it drawing a huge smile to his previously concerned expression.

“What?” Silas asked, not knowing what Patrick was laughing at. “What’s funny?”  
“Nothing,” Patrick tried to reign in his chuckles. “Nothing, go on, what do you have in mind.”

Marcus and Silas exchanged mystified glances before Silas cleared his throat and continued.

“They don’t know anything about Normal Worlders…”  
“Who does?” Marcus chuckled behind them as he mixed the potion.  
Silas raised an eyebrow, but with it the corners of his mouth. “So,” he continued, “we have the advantage.”  
“We do?” Patrick replied sceptically, raising his hands to indicate the cell.  
“Of course we do, because you’re going to escape.”

Patrick nodded, certain that Silas would explain how he was meant to escape from the cell if even they couldn’t, with all their powers to help them.

“When you drink this, well, that,” Silas pointed to the bottle in Marcus’ hands, “which, tastes pretty good, I have to tell you, you’ll disappear. Well, you won’t disappear, you’ll just be invisible.”  
“I kind of figured that’s what you meant,” Patrick raised an eyebrow at the unnecessary clarification.  
Silas smiled, relieved. “Yes, well, you’ll be invisible for… How long would you say, Marcus?”  
“An hour and twenty two minutes, roughly,” the Sandman looked up, a pinch of worm root still gripped between finger and thumb.  
“Roughly?” Patrick smiled. “You can’t be any more precise?”  
“No,” Marcus frowned, not realising that Patrick wasn’t serious. “I don’t have a calibrator,” he added almost apologetically. “Plus, you are a bit of an unknown quantity, but…”  
“It’s okay,” Patrick patted his arm, “that’s near enough, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Okay, so I disappear, how do I get out? And even if I do, what then? I don’t know my way around here, I don’t even know where here is.”  
Silas frowned deeply. “Neither do I.”  
“Ceramistten,” Marcus replied helpfully as he replaced the bottle stopper and began to shake the mixture. “At least that’s were we were when they got me. I presume we didn’t go far.”  
“There’s nothing near to Ceramistten,” Silas mused. “Just the Monastery, it was on my itinerary, but that’s in the middle of nowhere.”  
“The Manic Street Monastery was on your itinerary?” Marcus laughed. “As well as Es Galleons? Do you actually have a death wish?”  
“What?” Silas objected. “It sounded interesting.”  
“Patrick,” Marcus removed the stopper and smelled the liquid within before nodding with satisfaction. “In Normal World, do you have a group of people who basically consider themselves beyond the law and live under their own rules?”  
“Er… Yeah, I guess there are several groups like that,” Patrick agreed.  
“Well, here we have the Ceramistten Manic Street Monastery,” Marcus turned a stern expression towards his brother. “Which is not a tourist attraction. That’s another destination you kept from father, isn’t it?”  
“How do you know about that?” Silas asked, wide-eyed at the revelation and feeling guilty to have been caught out. It was obvious to him now that while he may not have known just how dangerous either of the places were, he knew enough to exclude them when showing their father his planned route.  
Marcus grinned. “Well, when we get back, just don’t plan on making any other trips any time soon.”  
“He knows?” Silas asked bleakly.   
“Seriously, Silas, have you ever known our father not to be aware of everything we do?”  
“How does he know? You’re right, he always knows!”  
Marcus smiled with amusement. Silas, for all his intelligence could frequently be quite naive and miss the blindingly obvious. “I think maybe you need to be a little more devious if you want to catch him out. He is the Captain of The Guard Si, he probably has us watched constantly. Probably always has, and let’s face it, with our past issues, he probably needed to.”  
“I’m in real trouble.”  
“Yeah, well, I’d take that kind over this kind, any day!” Marcus replied emphatically. “This is ready,” he added holding up the bottle.  
“The next time we hear them coming in, you drink the mixture,” Silas instructed Patrick. “You’ll disappear pretty much straight away. We’ll tell them that you used your Normal World powers to escape. When they come in to find you, you escape and get out of this building. When you’re outside you call for Mister Crab. Okay?”  
“Well, yeah, but, what if they do something to knock you out before opening the cell? I’ll be out too. What if they don’t come in at all?”  
Silas shrugged. “Then we tried. It’s pretty much all we can do.”

Patrick nodded; they had very few options but this was hopefully the opportunity they needed.

*

“Do you have your questions ready?” Mister Crab asked kindly.

Joe tried to smile, but it emerged as a worried grimace. In truth he either had so many questions he didn’t know where to begin or he had none; it really depended on the answer to his first question.

“Do I have a limited number of questions?”

Shoe smiled at the nervous guitarist. It seemed strange to him that he was almost looking at himself and yet a completely unknowing version. Perhaps, because of the similarity in appearance, he had felt a special affinity toward Joe. Perhaps, despite his perceived strange behaviour, he shared a similar outlook to Joe. They both appeared to simply accept that what was going to happen, was going to happen. The difference being, of course, that Shoe not only knew what was going to happen, but could also decide what would happen.

“No, there is no limit, as such, but we do need to head off at first light, so you are somewhat constrained by time,” he explained.

Joe nodded, suddenly feeling as if he had nothing to ask, as if all the questions in his mind refused to order themselves and nothing was forthcoming.

“Please, Joe,” Shoe smiled kindly. “Ask your questions.”  
“How old are you?”  
Shoe frowned. “Unimaginably.”  
“You said you’d answer truthfully,” Joe returned with a frown of his own.  
“My friend, that is truthful.”  
“Answer me… please?”  
Shoe nodded. “If you insist. I am approaching twelve million years.”  
“Twelve?” Joe’s jaw dropped open as he began to truly see that Shoe’s first reply was absolutely correct. “Million? Years?”  
“I did warn you,” Shoe took a deep breath. “And now, you mind has emptied of questions, has it not?”

Joe stared back, blankly knowing that he was absolutely correct. All questions that he had ever thought to ask were gone, swamped by the knowledge of Mister Crab’s unfathomable age.

“I know what you need to know, what you wanted to ask. I will be honest with you, I examined your thoughts, gently and only the public ones, before you worry. I am not intrusive by nature, but I did know what would happen if I answered your question. But, I have learned something too and, while I can’t change my nature, I do understand more of your needs.”

Joe continued to stare.

“Before I continue,” Shoe smiled. “Joe? Are you recovered? May I explain?”  
“Yeah… Yes, of course,” he nodded.  
“If there is anything I don’t answer fully enough for you, you may still ask questions.”  
“Thanks,” Joe replied, quietly relieved that the bulk of the questioning was no longer his responsibility. He would merely have to consider gaps and questions of particular interest to him. Taking a deep breath and making himself comfortable, Joe prepared himself for possibly the strangest tale he had ever heard.

“I came into being almost twelve million years ago, myself and two others, one older, one younger. My younger sibling always wanted to please the eldest who always wanted to show off to the younger. It was a self-perpetuating cycle. They became very self-important and here in Carousel after we arrived much later, it became obvious to us very quickly that the inhabitants of this world possessed nothing of the powers we took for granted. As is so often the case, they looked to us as Rulers, and we in turn brought order, peace and prosperity to a once disordered world. And there it should have ended, we should have established a ruling order and moved on. I see that now. But, alas, we stayed and instead my siblings tried to control and subjugate. The elder of us enjoyed being worshipped and the younger was now so in the habit of blindly following the elder, that it happened almost without thought. I alone thought that things ought to be different. I… I liked Carousel and its people. They had something that we didn’t have, something we would never have – humour. It was simply absent in our being and remains so. Many other things were different also, some I’ve learned others I’ve not and so, you see me now and I act differently to you and, you mistrust what you don’t know. I understand that, though I wish it were otherwise. My siblings and I began to argue; terrible arguments that would have great ramifications for Carousel. I wanted to grant powers to ordinary people and I devised a method by which they, and I accept that my methods were incomplete, could cause no harm through the misuse of their powers. My siblings did not approve and they tried to strip me of my powers and imprison me. To some extent, they managed. I have all the powers I ever had, but they are restricted. I cannot use any positive power unless it is at someone else’s request. For example, you have to ask for luck, and Pete whether he realises it or not, requested help in the fight against Francis. Every power that exists within Carousel, that of the Sandman, the Benzedrine, Locator, Renderer and a thousand others, I bestowed them all and still possess them all, in some form. I managed to defeat my siblings and contain them in a secret location known… possibly only to me now, but I cannot restore my full powers without awakening them and it is not a risk I ever wish to take as it could easily be disastrous, not only for Carousel, but for your world too. My tale was passed by word of mouth to each generation, sometimes it was embellished so much as to make it mere folklore. But there came a time when Ruler Owen, three rulers ago, found the details of my existence and saw it as a threat.”  
“Why?” Joe asked quietly, as if to speak louder would disturb the story.  
“Ruler Owen was not a good man,” Shoe shook his head. “And while I cannot use my powers without request, I can refuse. I refused him powers. All Rulers have some sort of power, but he usurped the throne, he wasn’t the rightful heir.”

Joe frowned at the news, drawing a smile from Shoe’s lips.

“Don’t worry, on his death, the throne returned to the ruling family. Lord Joshua is the rightful ruler and Mister Sandman and Doctor Benzedrine are the legal heirs to their father’s throne. But Ruler Owen he found a method of revenge. Trapping me inside a dream conjured by the then Sandman, I was imprisoned for thousands of years until you released me.”  
“I thought you said you had arranged it so no one could use their powers to harm anyone? How did the Sandman use his to trap you in a dream?”  
“When we were in the Dream World forest searching for Silas the last time we met, I believe it was Pete who queried why my name was not my occupation and I told him that I was not from The Hills, where the practice is most common. I exaggerated somewhat. Not only am I not from The Hills, I’m not even from Carousel. As Pete discovered and I already knew from my own experience, powers may be used to harm those not from Carousel and I intend to find some way to address that oversight.”  
“Can’t I just ask you to do it?” Joe asked innocently. “You said you could but…”

Stopping as Shoe’s lips broadened into a smile, Joe nodded.

“You can’t ask to be asked. I remember you said that when we were in the hospital.”  
“Correct,” Shoe smiled. “Consider the matter resolved. Do you need to know anything else?”  
“Why are you helping us?” Joe asked, sincere in his uncertainty.  
“You saved my life, I will save yours. All of you.”  
“Do you really know everything?”  
“Yes,” Shoe replied solemnly. “But don’t forget that even if I am aware of what will happen I have no control over it, not unless someone else is also aware and asks me to change it. You see my dilemma?”  
Joe nodded. “And why you let the situation with Francis go how it did.”  
Shoe nodded gravely. “I had no choice. But, I do what I may with the opportunities available to me. Now, I suggest you sleep too, we have a very long day ahead of us all tomorrow.”

Before Mister Crab had even finished his sentence, Joe was yawning and excusing himself to curl up by the fire. Watching the small group, Mister Crab frowned; it would indeed be a long day.

*

“He’s not coming home is he?” Eleanor asked as she looked up at Lord Joshua, he skin pale, and her eyes brimming with tears.

Joshua sighed with despair, yet trying hard not to show his true feelings. Pulling his wife into a gentle embrace, he caressed her hair and swayed in a gentle rocking motion in an attempt to soothe her frayed nerves. They had spoken to their son, Marcus Sandman and his best friend Donnie Catcher only hours before. He had given his word to them that he would come home immediately, but even as he did, Joshua had suspected that he was lying to them. He wasn’t a bad son, just very single-minded and although well intentioned, he was irresponsibly reckless at times. Joshua suspected that this had been one of those times. He was assuming the worst and, unfortunately, he had good reason to.

“Josh,” Eleanor began, her voice trembling with uncertainty. “What aren’t you telling me?”  
“Nothing, my dear,” Joshua began. “Though I fear you’re right.”  
Eleanor pulled away from her husband and turned a stern expression toward him. “If I wanted to be lied to, I’d wait for Marcus,” she answered in a clipped tone.  
Joshua closed his eyes; she could read him like a book. “I’ve had no more reports from my officer at Allandra’s. I’m hoping it means that he’s just having to be more careful.”  
“But it could be very bad news? Silas and Patrick may be alone?”  
“Possibly,” Joshua swallowed nervously. “But he’s a good man, one of my best. I still believe there’s a good chance everything is all right.”  
“And if it isn’t?” Eleanor choked out the words.  
Joshua turned dark eyes to his wife, a look of steely determination fixed on his tired face. “If she’s hurt either of our boys in any way, I’ll kill her!”   
“My Lord,” Joshua’s personal aide bowed low as he entered.  
“Ambrose,” The Guv’nor replied as he turned to face his aide.”What is it?”  
“Sir, the Benzedrine from Danloka is here and I have a private communication for you from Spy Master V74.”  
“Coded?”  
“Alpha.”  
“I’ll take it in here. Maximum security, Ambrose.”  
“Of course, My Lord,” the aide nodded. “And the Benzedrine?”  
“Set him to work, I want the whole district awake within the hour. And… If he asks, and only if he asks, tell him that Doctor Benzedrine is unavailable. Nothing more.”  
“My Lord,” Ambrose bowed again before leaving the chamber.   
“I’ll leave you to take…” Eleanor began.  
“No,” Joshua, interrupted. “Stay, it’s regarding Marcus. Code Alpha is Marcus, Omega is Silas.”  
“You have code names for them?” Eleanor raised her eyebrows.  
“I’ve had them both discreetly watched all their lives. Code names were essential for absolute secrecy.”  
“Do you think they know?”  
“Well, they know that Donnie was watching them, but I doubt that they know about the others, or if they do, they’re resigned to it.” 

Before Eleanor had a chance to reply, the nearby floor standing avstandball flickered to like and a hologram of an old man formed in the centre.

“My Lord Joshua,” the old man bowed as low as he was physically able before taking a few moments to right himself.  
“My friend, how many times must I ask you not to bow to me?”  
“I need no allowances for my age, My Lord,” the man replied kindly.  
“Master Spyvie, I make no mention of your age, just that you need not bow to me. Without you, this kingdom would have fallen a long time ago.”  
“You flatter me, My Lord.”  
Joshua smiled kindly; he knew from experience that he wasn’t going to win an argument with this man.  
“You have news of Marcus?”  
“Yes, My Lord, but I’m afraid it’s not good news. A Normal Worlder was offered for sale…”  
“Patrick!” Eleanor gasped.  
“Yes, My Lady,” Spyvie nodded. “But at the time of the sale I was unaware of Lady Allandra’s connection. It was only when Mister Sandman arrived to buy him that I realised this went deeper than I first thought.”  
“He tried to buy him?”  
“Yes, My Lord, but he was betrayed to them by a Renderer. They have him now.”  
“Is there any chance that she doesn’t know who they are?”  
“There’s a slim chance, My Lord, but my guess is that she does.”  
“And she wants the throne?”  
“Yes, My Lord,” Spyvie replied in a regretful tone.  
“I can’t fight her,” Joshua shook his head. “Not while she has my sons. I can’t risk their lives.”  
“With respect, Sir, you have to fight her. Do you really believe she’ll let them live? Any of you? This is not the first time the throne has been usurped. You know this yourself, it wasn’t so many years ago that an attempt was made…”  
“Spyvie, I can’t! I can’t live with the deaths of my sons on my conscience!”  
“The deaths of your whole family and many of your loyal subjects will weigh a lot heavier, my friend.”  
Joshua paused in his reply; Spyvie, his good and trusted friend and advisor had never dropped formality before. He realised now that he was too close to the problem to be objective, perhaps it was time to take counsel from the man he had trusted with his very life all those years ago.  
“Can you come to The Hills?” Joshua asked quietly. “I know it may be dangerous here…”  
“I will travel immediately, do you have a Catcher awake?”  
“I can do it,” Eleanor announced, slipping her tiny hand into her husband’s bear-like palm and squeezing it reassuringly. “I’ll have a counsel chamber made ready for your arrival, Master Spyvie.”  
“Thank you, My Lady,” Spyvie bowed his head reverently. “I will do everything in my power to stop her hurting you or your sons, I promise.”

*

Marcus smiled faintly as he watched Patrick sleeping soundly in the corner of the cell. He had almost forgotten that he would need to sleep from time to time. Patrick had spent so much time unconscious after being brought in from the Stans Plate, it seemed strange to him that he needed to sleep again, but as he watched him, occasionally taking a deep breath or making small sounds as if trying to speak, he realised that Patrick was very much in need of a comforting dream. Searching through another previously unseen inside pocket in his coat, Marcus withdrew what appeared to be a glowing strand of electric blue light. As he pulled it from his pocket, he smiled as he watched it change shape and move slowly and fluidly an a dozen different directions. Shuffling quietly over to where Patrick lay, Marcus laid the glowing blue strand over Patrick’s eyes and watched as it slowly appeared to melt into his skin before disappearing altogether.

Moving back to the opposite side of the cell, Marcus glanced in Silas’ direction.

“What’s the dream?” Silas asked quietly.  
“He’ll be back home, doing whatever his favourite thing is.”  
“Music,” Silas smiled. “He lives, breathes and eats it.”  
“Ugh! Don’t mention eating!” Marcus held his stomach. “I’m so hungry, I…”  
“Don’t!” Silas frowned. “Me too!”  
“Silas?” Marcus began before stopping suddenly.  
“Yeah?” Silas frowned; the expression on Marcus’ face suggested that something was troubling him deeply.  
“Uhn… It’s okay.” Marcus shook his head.  
“No, tell me,” Silas drew up a knee as if to make a move towards his brother.  
“No,” Marcus threw up a hand. “I… I’ll ask. I know we’re supposed to be putting everything behind us… all the trouble we had. But something’s really confusing me.”  
“Go on,” Silas encouraged with a genuine smile.  
“Would you really have done it? You know, if things hadn’t worked out the way they did. would you have done it?”

Silas’ brow creased in confusion as he tried to make sense of his brother’s words. There was clearly some obvious trepidation behind the question. Whatever it was that Marcus was asking about, he didn’t seem to know if he wanted the answer or not. It was only after a few more moments of silence that the Sandman’s face began to show impatience and anger. Silas knew he had to say something, before Marcus lost his temper with him.

“I’m not ignoring you, Marcus, I’m just really not sure what you mean.”  
“You could at least have the guts to admit it,” the angry Sandman grumbled, trying to keep his voice low for Patrick’s sake. “I would never, no matter how angry I was with you, destroy something you loved!”  
Silas’ eyes shot wide open at the words. “What in Carousel are you accusing me of?”  
“Oh, don’t play dumb, Silas! You went to Normal World trying to convince Patrick to help you destroy the Dream World.”

The dumbstruck Benzedrine’s jaw fell open and for a few moments all he was able to do was stare. Scrambling to his knees, Silas moved closer to his brother.

“That’s not why I was there! Don’t turn this round on me! I went because you were threatening to trap everyone in a permanent nightmare!”  
“What?” Marcus’ brow was now even more furrowed than his brother’s. “I never said…”

Marcus stopped dead as Silas’ expression changed. It seemed as if a veil had been lifted from over his eyes and he now appeared to have salvaged some sense from their mutual confusion.

“One of my Aides reported to me what you were supposed to be planning. I take it you weren’t?” Silas asked, only partly serious.  
“No!” The distressed Sandman shook his head. “And, I guess, you weren’t trying to stop everyone from sleeping?”  
“No!” Silas breathed, shocked at the idea. “That would…”  
Marcus nodded bleakly. “Destroy the Dream World.”  
“I would never… could never do that.”  
“I told Patrick it wouldn’t kill me if I lost it, not physically, but, it would in every other sense of the word.”  
“I know,” Silas nodded. “Marcus, you have to believe me. I could never do that.”

Marcus took a deep breath and nodded. “It was my Aide who gave me the report that said you were… I can’t believe he lied to me, but what else could it be?”  
“This Aide of yours?” Silas began in a suspicious tone. “Is his name Ezra by any remote chance?”  
“Yes!” Marcus cried, pointing as if to emphasise his agreement. “Father recommended him to me.”

As the words emerged from his lips, Marcus began to slow his speech, the real meaning dawning on him. As he spoke, Silas nodded along with him.

“You too?”  
“Me too,” Silas agreed. “He set us up.”  
“He wanted us at each other’s throats?”  
“Marcus, we already were! This way we had to confront each other. It was probably his idea to get Patrick and the guys involved too. Ezra suggested I go to Normal World and seek them out because you already had.”  
“Yeah, same story.” Marcus sighed. “No wonder Father got so emotional after we escaped from the Nightmares in the forest. I’ve never heard him be so honest with his feelings.”  
“Everything got out of control; he must have thought he’d killed us.” Silas paled at the thought. “What must he be going through now?”


	21. Patrick disappears...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...but does it only lead to problems?

The fire had long since died out, but the first rays of the morning sun were sufficient to keep the small group warm. Donnie had been the first to wake. With no one to talk to, he found himself staring into the dying embers of the fire, lost in thought, the worried Catcher sighed heavily to himself as he watched the last of the orange pin-pricks of light darken to ash. Looking to his left as he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, he raised a faint smile as Mister Crab sat down next to him.

“You’re unhappy,” Mister Crab finally spoke.  
“That wasn’t a question,” Donnie replied quietly.  
“No,” Mister Crab answered quietly. “The question is, why?”  
“Why” Donnie frowned, surprised by the question. “I’m worried about Marcus… Well, all of them really.”  
“Why Marcus in particular?”  
Donnie sighed. “I always thought he was strong, you know? Like nothing could touch him. I don’t mean that in a bad way. I’m not suggesting that he doesn’t care about anything… but, I was really shocked when I found out just how insecure he is. The last few weeks have been a real strain on him, more than I’m sure he’s prepared to admit to. I just wish I knew he was okay.”  
“He’s well enough,” Mister Crab replied to Donnie’s surprise. “Like you, he’s worried, scared for his family and friends, but he’s trying to stay positive.  
“You… You know that?” Donnie stammered.  
“Yes,” he replied, unphased by Donnie’s surprise.  
“You mean they’re not blocked by a maktval any more? They can use their powers?”  
“No, they’re still locked in their cell, that hasn’t changed.”  
“But… But how? Aren’t you affected by the maktval?”  
Mister Crab laughed quietly and shook his head. “No, that has no affect on me whatsoever.”  
“Then, can you bring Marcus, Silas and Patrick back and them be safe and unhurt?”  
“No, Donnie, I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” Mister Crab replied with regret audible in his tone.  
“I don’t understand. Why?” Donnie complained.  
“I can grant luck, Donnie, not miracles. If something happens, it is aided by luck. It wouldn’t be lucky if they appeared here now, it would be some sort of miracle.”  
“Can’t you help them escape, then?” Donnie frowned. “That would be lucky, wouldn’t it?”  
“Normally, I’d agree with you, but not in this case,” Mister Crab sighed distractedly.  
“Why?” Donnie asked, puzzled by the response.  
“Donnie, I hear all requests for luck, wherever they are. I don’t have to actually physically hear someone with my own ears, the request still comes to me.”  
“So?”  
“Marcus has already requested luck. He wants us to find them. I can’t grant yours while his is still unfinished.”  
“So we will find them?”  
“Yes, but that’s not the only issue. They’re being held in the home of Lady Constance Allandra, a sprawling mansion complex beyond the edge of town.”  
“So?” Donnie asked. “That doesn’t explain anything.”  
“Alas, it explains everything,” Mister Crab replied cryptically.  
“Not to me, it doesn’t,” Donnie said crossly as his companion at the dying fire remained unnecessarily secretive. “What are you saying?”  
“She is paranoid. Constantly imagining that intruders, be they thieves, assassins or The Guard will find her. That said, she has good reason to fear, particularly The Guard. But, because of her need to protect herself, her property is built in the centre of an expanse of myrland.”  
“Myrland?” Donnie queried, his brow creasing in concern.  
“So you see, the shifting ground and marshy terrain are death traps to all but those with a practised eye for picking out the safe routes.  
Donnie’s eyes widened. “And her whole property’s surrounded by it?”

Mister Crab nodded.

“So, it’s not just a case of finding them, it’s getting to them safely?”

Mister Crab nodded again.

“So, we’d need luck for that?”  
“Indeed you would,” Mister Crab smiled. “But you have that now. Now then, my friend, wake the others, we have a long day ahead of us. We have to get there, before there are any new developments.”  
“New developments?” Donnie turned a puzzled expression towards Mister Crab. Was he holding something back?

Merely smiling in return, he waved for Donnie to set to work waking his companions.

*

Patrick yawned and stretched, a smile fixed on his face as he rolled onto his back and opened his eyes.

“Oh!” he murmured in a pained tone.  
“What’s wrong?” Silas asked, concerned once more for Patrick’s health.  
“Nothing,” Patrick sighed as he pushed himself upright. “It’s just that I’d had this really great dream that I was back home in my studio and… and well, I’m not, am I?”

Marcus’ eyes widened in alarm at the words. His well-intentioned actions had achieved their aim, but had gone beyond what he had originally planned. Patrick had enjoyed the dream, but his disappointment to find that it was so far from reality was not something that the Sandman had considered.

“Patrick, I’m sorry,” he apologised, “I didn’t think! I just wanted you to have a good dream. It seems so long since you could enjoy anything… I… I’m sorry!”

Patrick turned a concerned expression towards the distressed Sandman. Silas too was frowning with worry for his brother’s anxiety. Patrick smiled faintly. Marcus was a good man, they both were. Yes, Marcus could frequently behave in a somewhat misguided way, but there was never any malice behind his actions. He just seemed to view the world in a slightly unconventional way. Pushing himself from the floor, Patrick moved the short distance to where Marcus sat and kneeling in front of him, pulled him into a comforting hug.

“The dream was amazing, thank you,” he said, his voice sincere and grateful.  
“But it’s…”  
“Marcus, it was great, you were right, it was exactly what I needed. It was just so real,” he leaned back from the hug. “More so than I’m used to, that’s all. It just took me by surprise, but I loved it.”

Sitting opposite, Silas smiled as Marcus slowly relaxed, his shoulders and jaw now visibly much less tense as he took in Patrick’s words. Finally a smile crossed the Sandman’s lips, simply grateful that his efforts hadn’t made matters worse.

Looking down at his knees, Silas sighed inwardly. Things appeared bleak, his entire family was in danger, he had no idea what was happening with his friends or, a new smile plucked at his lips, with Laura, but he couldn’t help but find solace in the fact that his relationship with Marcus had been mended. Not since they were small boys had things been so good between them. He didn’t want to die, but if he did, at least his dream of a reunited family had been realised.

_You’re thinking out loud again, Si_

Looking up, Silas blushed to see Marcus staring at him, one eyebrow raised in a gesture of concern.

_We’ll get out of this, I promise_

_You can’t, Marcus, you don’t know for certain, Silas replied telepathically._

_Yes I do, the Sandman argued._

_How?_

_I’m your big brother, you have to trust me._

_I do. Silas smiled, earning broad grin in return._

Patrick smiled to himself; he had no idea what had been discussed, but he had been around the brothers long enough to know when a comforting exchange had taken place between the two. Saying nothing to disturb them, he began to shuffle back toward the far wall when they heard the sound of the door to the room beyond the cell being opened.

Quickly drinking the contents of the potion bottle and being surprised by the liquid’s unexpectedly pleasant sweet and fruity taste, Patrick passed the empty bottle to Marcus who hid it in his pocket once more. Even before Marcus had closed his coat, Patrick’s eyes were widening as he watched his arm fade from view. By the time Henry approached the bars, Patrick was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s he gone?” Henry cried in alarm as he scanned the cell repeatedly in the vain hope that if he looked often enough, that Patrick would somehow suddenly appear. “Where is he?” he repeated as he stared wide-eyed in panic at the two brothers.  
“One thing you don’t know about Normal Worlders,” Marcus smirked. “They’re not affected by maktvals.”  
“Bu… But they don’t have powers,” he stammered in reply.  
“Who says they don’t?” Silas cocked an eyebrow at him.

 _Highness, please! Where is he?_ He asked telepathically.

Silas stared back harshly, angry that he had been fooled by this man, that he had trusted him.

_No, you can’t fool me any more. I’m telling you nothing. Patrick remembered what he heard when he woke after you got him off the Stans Plate. He heard your plans to take the throne. To depose our father! And then to take Normal World. He heard you!_

_No! You’ve got it all wrong! I told you I had to think of a reason to keep him alive._

Silas frowned. It seemed all too plausible. Could Henry be on their side after all?

_Highness, trust me, please!_

_Pull back the maktval and open the door._ Silas insisted

_I can’t. I’d never get you out of here alive. Not now._

_I give you my word, we won’t try to leave, neither will Mister Sandman put you to sleep. Just prove yourself to us and open the door._

_If that’s what it’ll take to convince you._

Unaware of the telepathic conversation, Marcus’ eyes widened with joy as he watched Henry switch off the maktval and open the barred door. Lifting his hand immediately, intent on extracting some revenge for their imprisonment, Marcus turned a shocked expression toward his brother as Silas gripped his arm, forcing it back down again.

“Wha…” Marcus began only to be silenced by Silas’ free hand. Watching in confusion as Silas shook his head at him, the bewildered Sandman turned a frown towards Henry who merely stood outside the cell watching the pair.  
“Now, again,” Henry finally spoke. “Where is the Normal Worlder.”  
“Gone,” Silas announced.

_Highness, please, you must trust me. Where is he?_

_I told you. He’s gone._

_Gone? How? They don’t have powers… Do they?_

_You just let him out. Like I said, gone. He’s going to get far away from here, where she can’t hurt him._

Locking the cell once more and reactivating the maktval, Henry’s eyes widened in panic.

 _What’s wrong?_ Silas asked, sensing the fear in Henry’s mind.

_I have to find him. The mansion’s surrounded by myrland! How do I find him?_

_You can’t. He’ll be invisible for over an hour. Myrland? B… But if he…_ In his panic, Silas struggled to contain his thoughts, now being heard by both Marcus and Henry.

 _Silas, what’s wrong?_ Marcus asked on seeing the colour drain from his brother’s face.

_I think we just sent Patrick to his death._

*

“Patrick?” Silas began. “Are you still here? Can you hear me? If you can, please say something.”  
“What’s going on?” Marcus placed a hand on his brother’s arm in a gesture of deep concern.  
“Henry's just said that the whole place is surrounded by myrland,” Silas explained, to the Sandman’s deep consternation.  
“But… Patrick…”

“I know,” he replied, his already serious expression deepening.

 _Highnesses, can’t you do this telepathically? Please?_ Henry begged them both, his thoughts sounding fearful.  
_Patrick can’t hear telepathic thoughts._ Silas explained to them both.  
_Highnesses?_ Marcus queried. _Our jailor's on our side?_  
_Apparently._ Silas replied with a mental sigh. _I didn't believe him. He says he's in The Guard._

Henry closed his eyes as he took in the words. He had, on a number of occasions tried to convince Patrick of his good intentions during the course of his imprisonment. It wasn't just that he wanted to convince Patrick, but it would help reinforce what he was saying to Doctor Benzedrine. He had believed him to be a good actor, but now he realised to his horror that the Normal Worlder simply hadn’t heard any of his reassurances. If that wasn't bad enough, now, to make matters worse, the princes were trying to resolve the matter by speaking aloud for Patrick's benefit and Henry was panicking. If he were being watched, this would be the moment of truth.

His heart sank when the outer door opened and two of Allandra’s personal guard entered the room. Pointing their weapons directly at him, one of them smirked.

“Lady Constance has been called back to the mansion,” he announced. “She may have had a soft spot for you, but I don’t expect she’ll let you live all that much longer. I suggest you say goodbye to your new found friends and step away from the door.”

Henry stared back through gritted teeth. It was over. There were no possible excuses or reasons he could give for what had just taken place. He had been caught and worse still, he was unarmed. The princes and Patrick had been his priority and he had let them down badly. If only he had known that Patrick couldn’t hear him, he could have explained everything to Silas. Maybe they would have trusted him, but there was nothing that could be done now. Wishing he hadn’t put the maktval back in place, Henry weighed up his chances of reaching the door controls before he was killed. They were slim, but he had to try. He was dead anyway, but the princes still had a chance to escape if only he could deactivate the maktval.

*

The Counsel Chamber was a grand and cavernous room. Marbled floors reflecting a brilliant mirror shine. Tall columns reached some twenty feet high into the vaulted marble ceiling. Intricately carved mahogany panels and long gilt edged ornate mirrors lined the walls. At the windows, floor length, thick rich dark blue velvet drapes hung, partially drawn, allowing enough light for the two occupants to see the worried expressions on each other’s faces.

At one end of the huge room, a set of double doors opened wide. In the centre stood Ambrose, Lord Joshua’s Chief Aide. Looking up, Joshua stared expectantly at the new arrival.

“My Lord,” he began. “Master Spyvie.”  
“Thank you, Ambrose,” Joshua replied with a grateful sigh.

Behind Ambrose, an old man began to walk slowly into the room, but both Joshua and Eleanor were already on their way to meet him. Extending a firm handshake to the old man, Joshua ushered him quietly and slowly towards a comfortable chair.

“My Lord,” Spyvie bowed his head reverently. “My Lady,” he repeated the gesture.  
“Master Spyvie,” Eleanor lifted his hand and kissed it lightly. “Thank you for coming so quickly. Please have a seat."  
“There is much to tell you, My Lady.” Spyvie announced. "A group of Normal Worlders, your young nephew and none other than Mr H Shoe Crab are, with the help of a Locator, are on their way to try to rescue your sons. They…"  
"Mister Crab?"  
"Yes, I spoke with him, he's been with them since Patrick was taken."  
"He was there when Marcus was taken?" Joshua growled angrily. "That man has more power than anyone in Carousel but he let them take my boy!"  
"My Lord, I cannot comment on his reasoning, but he was aware it would happen, but he also seemed to suggest to me that Doctor Benzedrine need him."

Joshua frowned as he took a step back. Silas was a fairly self-contained young man. He rarely, if ever seemed to rely or need anyone. But, that said, he had just recently repaired the relationship with his brother. Was it possible that Silas could need his brother? That in the midst of this crisis, that perhaps Silas wasn't as strong as he had always assumed? He had been wrong about Marcus, very wrong. It was not unreasonable to assume that he had been equally wrong about Silas. He made a mental note that when this was over - and it would be over - they would take a family vacation. Somewhere peaceful, somewhere they could all just relax, get over the terrible stress they had been under but most of all, get to know each other again. Joshua raised a smile as Eleanor slipped her hand into his once more.

"They'll be home soon," she whispered.  
"When will she be here?" Joshua began again, his tone dropping as the worrying question.  
"She is already here, My Lord," Spyvie smiled.  
"Here? Now? But we've yet to mobilise The Guard! How is that possible? There was no one to catch her if she came that way and if…"  
"No, My Lord, you don't understand. I arranged for her mansion to be surrounded by Guard. When anyone came out, they could be arrested. Somewhat unexpectedly, Allandra left the mansion herself."  
"Where was she going?"  
"The Ceramistten Monastery. It seems that she was starting to suspect that her Aide was not who he said he was."  
"He isn't," Joshua smiled.  
"I'm aware of that, My Lord. But when she was far enough from the mansion, we arrested her."  
"And she's here?"  
Eleanor looked up. "In this palace?"  
"Yes, My Lady. Secured in chains, she can do no harm."  
"Bring her in here," Eleanor's tone darkened. "Thinks she can hurt my boys does she?"  
"Ellie, that won't help. We have to find a way to get them out of there now. They won't make a move without her."  
"I want to see her and I want to hear her," Eleanor insisted.  
"Hear?" Joshua asked, at first confused. "Oh, no! I'm not having you going there too! Not my whole family!"  
"My Lord, it is an ideal solution. By using her powers, The Lady Eleanor can appear to them as Allandra, she can order their transportation. Once they're outside, The Guard can arrest her household and your sons and the Normal Worlder will be free."  
"I'm not risking more of my family!" Joshua yelled in return.  
"Would you give us a moment, Master Spyvie?" Eleanor smiled kindly before leading her husband half way across the room.  
"No!" he growled angrily before Eleanor even spoke.  
"No one will attack me," she began by ignoring him. "They will think I'm Allandra. All I have to do is spend a few minutes with her, I can make them see what they expect to see."  
"No, you're not doing it!" Joshua insisted, with more worry than anger in his tone. "You heard what Spyvie said, they're on their way… Donnie, Mr Crab, and the others."  
"They're going in for a fight. We could avoid that."  
"No, I said, you're not doing it!"  
"And if I said that I am?" she asked defiantly.  
"Please, Ellie, please just do as I ask."  
"I have to do this, Joshua," she placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Please don't make me defy you."  
"I can't lose you too," he choked out.  
"You haven't lost any of us yet," she replied comfortingly. "Just let me see her, you'll allow me that much?"

Joshua stared knowingly at his wife.

"You will remember that talk we had with Marcus about remembering that we have laws, won't you?"  
"You're afraid I might attack her?"  
"Yes, I am."  
"You might be right and don't tell me that you don't want to," she smiled in reply.  
"I think for the first time ever, I'm seeing something from Marcus' point of view," he sighed. "But I don't have that luxury, I'm the Captain of The Guard."  
"Then you need to find a new one."

*

Glancing quickly with just his eyes, Henry gauged how far out of reach the makval controls were only to earn a condescending laugh from Allandra’s guards.

“Too far, you’ll never reach them,” one warned.

It wasn’t an option, he had to try, but as he prepared himself to leap the distance, the heads of the two guards crashed together forcefully and suddenly. He watched in astonishment as the pair slipped silently to the floor, dropping their weapons as they fell.

“H…How The Hills…” Henry stammered in disbelief.  
“What happened?” Marcus asked quickly wishing he could see around the L shaped room.  
“They… I…”  
“Hurry up and let them out!” Patrick’s disembodied voice called out.  
“Patrick!” Silas grinned. “You’re okay!”  
“I was on my way out, but I saw them coming down the corridor and followed them back. Why didn’t you tell us you were on our side?”  
“I tried to,” Henry explained as he released Silas and Marcus from the cell. “Apparently you don’t hear telepathic messages. I didn’t know!” Henry explained. “But at least we know that Lady Constance is out. She has four more of her own guard, we have to get past them somehow.”  
“No problem!” Marcus laughed making an intricate symbol with his hand. “Everyone in the mansion is now asleep.”  
Henry smiled broadly. “Then let me introduce myself to you all properly. My name is Robert and I am a sergeant of the Lord Joshua’s Special Guard.”  
“Robert, I hope you’re ready to be well rewarded,” Silas patted his arm in gratitude.  
“I still have to get you all home, Highness.” Robert frowned. “And asking a Catcher to catch an invisible man is going to be a difficult challenge indeed.”  
“Nah,” Marcus beamed. “Donnie’ll do it.”  
“Come on, let’s get you out of here.”


	22. Allandra is Captured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This means all is well now, surely?

The door at the far end of the counsel chamber opened and an elegantly dressed woman, chained at her wrists and ankles was brought in as quickly as the chains would allow. Roughly two-thirds of the way up the grand imposing room stood two thrones side by side, in one, Lord Joshua, Ruler of Carousel and in the other, his Queen, The Lady Eleanor. Joshua’s face was a mask of cold judicial gravity. Eleanor, on the other hand, looked ready to kill. Fury and hatred emanated from her very being as she stared at the approaching woman. This woman had threatened the Crown, threatened her husband but her most heinous crime – she had imprisoned and tortured her sons. There was only one satisfactory penalty in her mind. 

Almost unnerving to them, however, was that as she was brought before the royal couple, Allandra seemed neither afraid nor showed signs of remorse. If anything she seemed almost smug. Either side of her stood two of The Guard, strong serious men who appeared more than capable of restraining her.

“Constance Allandra. I won’t call you Lady as I know you can’t claim your noble title,” Joshua began.  
“I prefer it,” she replied coolly, not for a moment dropping her haughty tone.  
“Your preference is of no interest to us,” Eleanor stated coldly and slowly, holding back the fury simmering below the surface.  
“Then at least tell me why I’m here,” Allandra answered smoothly, “and held in chains. What crime am I supposed to have committed?”

Sensing the reaction, Joshua threw an arm across in front of his wife, effectively pinning her to the throne.

“No, don’t rise to her,” he warned quietly.  
“Rise?” Eleanor fumed. “I’m going to kill her!”  
“No,” Joshua shook his head. Lowering his arm as he rose from the throne, he cupped his wife’s cheek. “Please, let me deal with her.”  
“You have to ask your wife’s permission to talk to me?” Allandra scoffed. “Well, who knew that Lord Joshua, Ruler of Carousel was ruled by his wife!”

Joshua circled her, laughing quietly to himself.

“You think that’s why I asked her to leave it to me?” as he returned to stand in front of her he smiled slyly. “No,” he shook his head. “I doubt you’re a mother, but if you were you’d know that nobody, but nobody, hurts your children. It doesn’t even matter if they’re grown men, they’re still your children. And when someone hurts them, well… shall we just say that right now I’m protecting you. But if you choose to be difficult, I will ask The Guard to leave and I’ll let my good Lady Eleanor deal with you in any way she sees fit.”

Allandra’s smug smile faltered somewhat as she stared back.

“You think I…”  
“I know what you did!” Joshua yelled at the woman. “I know that you took our boys with the intention of killing us and taking the throne and I know you had a Normal Worlder too. And…” Joshua paused for effect. “I know exactly what I’m going to do with you. Committing high treason comes with an equally high penalty.”  
“No,” she laughed. “What you’re actually going to do is let me go,” she replied with a superior smirk fixed on her face.   
“Oh, really? And what makes you think I’d do that?” Joshua asked with a chuckle.  
“My necklace,” Allandra smiled sweetly, explaining nothing.  
“What of it?” Joshua asked gruffly.  
“The stone is a Samtal.”

With eyes widening, Eleanor rose from her throne and joined her husband at his side.

“That’s right, you may well be afraid. Because of this stone, I’m never completely alone. Through it my guards have heard everything. They know now that Henry is a traitor,” Allandra lowered her eyes briefly, refusing to show that she had developed affection for the man she believed to be her Aide. “In fact, he’s probably dead,” she added spitefully. “And, of course, they know that I’m here. They now also know that if you don’t release me immediately they are to kill both your sons. Do you understand me, Lord Joshua? Your boys are being held behind a maktval. There’s nothing they can do and nothing you can do. Release me, or they die. I say again, do you understand me?”

Staring stony-faced at the smug woman standing opposite, Joshua took a deep breath and nodded.

“Yes, I understand you,” he growled. “I have no choice but to release you.”  
“Joshua?” Eleanor whispered at his side. 

Turning quickly, Joshua raised his hand sending out a wave of energy. Keeping his aim purely around Allandra, the two guards remaining unaffected, Joshua watched with satisfaction as, simultaneously, Allandra dropped heavily to the floor quivering violently by the effects of the mind-shattering blast and the pretty black gem around her neck shattered into a thousand pieces.

“Take her to the cells, prepare her for execution.”

Watching impatiently as the two guards carried her out of the chamber, Joshua turned to his wife.

“Ellie, I know what I said earlier, but…”  
“I’m ready,” she nodded. Briefly closing her eyes, she concentrated hard before finally looking up.

Joshua stared in appreciation of her bravery. To him, she appeared as his wife with an almost ghostly image of Allandra floating in front of her. To others, she would appear only as Allandra. Entering the mansion, she was about to risk everything to save their children. He couldn’t be more proud or more scared.

With a simple wave of her hand, the image of a curtain appeared, apparently hanging in mid-air. Turning, Eleanor gave her husband a brief but tender kiss, caressing his cheek with her hand.

“I’ll be back soon,” she smiled. “And I’ll bring the boys with me.”  
“Be careful, Ellie,” Joshua warned.  
“I will.”

Pushing the curtain aside, Eleanor slipped through into a void that would lead her directly to Allandra’s mansion.

Looking around the darkened room, Eleanor soon realised that she had emerged in Allandra’s private suite of rooms. The large overly ornate four poster bed dominated the main room and the numerous adjoining rooms appeared to be a series of walk in wardrobes. Eleanor found it difficult not to laugh at the massive collection of gowns, shoes and jewellery that she had amassed over the years, all of which would now belong to the crown to distribute as they saw fit.

Pushing open the main door, Eleanor stepped into the corridor and tried to look as if she knew where she was going. Corridor after corridor, room after room, revealed no one. Certainly, it was a very large building, but she had expected to see somebody. Turning into the next corridor, she smiled with pride and delight as she saw a man slumped on the floor, asleep.

Finally hearing voices approaching, she smiled as the voice stood out to her.

*

“You’re still with us aren’t you, Patrick?” Silas confirmed as the group headed at a brisk pace toward the entrance to the mansion.  
“Still here!” Patrick called cheerfully. “If ever I’m not, I’ll let you know.”

Marcus frowned in confusion. Patrick’s words were, of course, nonsense and this was confirmed to him when he heard the disembodied chuckles as Patrick reacted to his expression. Stopping dead in his tracks, the Sandman glared angrily at the approaching figure.

“You!” Marcus spat with contempt. “There’s no one to protect you now. They’re all asleep!” Marcus sneered. Raising his hand as Allandra stopped dead in her tracks only feet from him, he gasped as she seemed to simply disappear. “What The Hills! Where did she go?”

Marcus turned frantically from side to side looking for the woman who had stood in front of him only moments earlier. Silas too frowned in confusion at her disappearance. Had her appearance been simply an illusion?

“But she doesn’t have any powers!” Marcus cried in bewilderment.  
“But I do,” a gentle voice whispered into the Sandman’s ear, followed by a sweet, light brush of a kiss on his cheek.  
“Mother?” Marcus called excitedly, turning his head to see the woman now standing behind him. “Mother!”  
“Marcus!” she cried happily, gathering him close to her. “Silas!” she added reaching out with her hand and pulling her youngest son toward her.

Patrick watched with an invisible smile as the family were finally reunited; the brothers safe in their mother’s arms.

“My Lady,” Robert interrupted after a discreet pause.   
“Henry,” Eleanor released her sons and turned to the undercover guard. “Oh, I beg your pardon, Robert. I’m so use to referring to you as Henry.”  
“That’s quite all right, My Lady, I’m actually more used to Henry than Robert these days.”  
“Well, let us correct that,” Eleanor smiled, “when we get home, we will make sure everyone knows your name.”  
“That would make undercover work rather difficult, My Lady,” Robert smiled.  
“I think My Lord Joshua has something else in mind for you. You will be handsomely rewarded for this.”  
“At the risk of sounding cliche, My Lady, I was just doing my job.”  
“Does that mean we can’t appreciate it? What you’ve done was above and beyond your duty and you will be rewarded.”  
“Thank you, My Lady,” Robert gave a short bow of his head. “But we need to leave here. The mansion is surrounded by myrland. The path out is narrow and difficult, I must ask you all to walk in single file and follow me carefully. Patrick, as you’re invisible at the moment, if you would walk between Their Highnesses?”  
“Seriously, call us Silas and Marcus, please!” Silas sighed.  
“I kinda like Highness, though,” Marcus chuckled.  
“I don’t like it,” Silas replied bluntly.  
“Well, no, not at your height,” Marcus smirked.  
“Oh, like you’re so much taller!” Silas faked an outraged expression before it dissolved into a broad grin.  
“But I am taller,” Marcus raised an eyebrow.  
“Get over it,” Silas pouted playfully in return.  
“Boys,” Eleanor interrupted. “If you’re finished, do you think we could go home?”  
“Yes,” Silas sighed in relief at the word, hardly ever believing when he was locked in the hold of the ship that he would ever see his home or family again.  
“Your father has something to discuss with you.”  
“Oh,” Silas’ heart sank. This was the not so pleasant aspect of returning home.   
Eleanor noted that Marcus was still smirking. “Both of you,” she added sternly, receiving a bleak frown from her eldest. “Now, Robert, if you would be so kind?”  
“My Lady,” he smiled; at once amused and impressed at the way she had handled the two princes. 

*

“So,” Joe paused briefly. “That’s it, is it?”  
“Allandra’s mansion,” Mister Crab confirmed.  
“It’s big,” Andy ventured. “How many people do you think are in there?”  
“Altogether? Seventeen.”  
“That didn’t sound like a guess,” Pete cocked his head at the unexpected reply.  
“Eighteen,” Mister Crab smiled wistfully.  
“You were wrong?” Joe asked.  
“No,” Mister Crab replied without explanation.  
“What? Somebody just popped into existence?” Pete asked, with a slightly sarcastic tone.  
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”  
“So, what do we do?” Donnie asked a little impatiently. “You said it was myrland, how can we cross it safely?”  
“And are they still in there?” Pete added.  
“Oh, yes,” Laura replied immediately with a broad smile. “And they’re not guarded by a maktval anymore.”  
“You mean you can actually sense them?” Andy’s smile broadened. “What about Patrick?”

Laura closed her eyes and reached out with her mind, her fingers running over the paper given to her by Patrick.

“No!” Pete cried urgently. “Don’t locate him!”  
“I… But I’m already connected… I can see him. He’s… oh my, he’s there but he’s… invisible!”  
“Stop it!” Pete yelled. “We can’t take it. Your mind tricks are too painful for us.”  
“I…I’m sorry, I forgot!”  
“Have you stopped?” Pete asked quickly.  
“Yes, but now I can’t see how he is. But then, I couldn’t see before… he’s invisible!”  
“Trick? Invisible?” Joe asked with a deep frown.  
“All will be revealed,” Mister Crab smiled. “You just need to know where to look.”

Joe raised an eyebrow; if Mister Crab hadn’t already told him that he had no concept of humour, he would have called him on the terrible pun. But as it was he recognised that the strange man was alluding to something significant, but was again reluctant to provide detail in case he was needed to provide luck. Joe wished he knew what he was so concerned about. It was beyond frustrating to know that something may go wrong imminently but he had no idea what.

*

Patrick cried out in pain as Laura invaded his mind once more. The group now walking in single file through the potential death trap of myrland started to turn.

“Don’t break rank!” Robert ordered, alarmed that they were straying out of position.

Patrick’s knees buckled under him and he screamed louder, gripping his temples as Laura tore through his mind, the close proximity only making the pain all the more acute. 

“Patrick! What’s wrong?” Silas shouted. “Where are you?”

Reaching out, Silas’ fingers touched Patrick’s arm, but as his fingers closed, Patrick fell backwards, now unconscious. All they heard was a loud plopping sound as Patrick hit the myrland.

“Patrick!” Silas cried, moving to step forward.  
“No, Highness!” Robert held him back.  
“That man saved our lives!” Silas objected. “He’ll be sucked under!”  
“I know, but losing yours now isn’t going to help him!” Robert insisted.  
“Then what is?” Silas shouted back, fearful for Patrick’s life, trapped in the myrland and invisible to them.

*

Joe frowned as Mister Crab nodded slowly in his direction. Whatever it was that Mister Crab had anticipated had happened, he was certain. But what? Thinking back to what Mister Crab didn’t seem to help; Joe concentrated hard.

“What Laura said was significant, wasn’t it?” Joe asked, knowing that he probably wouldn’t get a reply.  
“May I urge speed?” Mister Crab replied calmly.

Joe’s brow creased with concern as the understated comment reminded him that someone was in very real danger. 

“Guys!” he called for everyone’s attention. “Something’s happened, someone’s in danger and we need to work out what so we can ask for luck. And we need to do it real quick.”

Half a dozen questions ran through everyone’s minds, including ‘how did he know?’ and ‘how would they ever work it out from that introduction?’, but from his last words, they realised that there was no time for explanation, just action.

“What Laura said was important, something about Patrick being invisible,” Joe turned a pleading expression to each of them in turn, begging them to pluck something of meaning from the comment.

Looking over to the mansion, possibly in hope of seeing something that may trigger a clue, Donnie frowned as nothing came to mind. Letting his gaze fall, he found himself staring blankly as he tried to concentrate. Taking in the surrounding area, his eyes widened suddenly as one possible explanation formed in his mind.

“The mansion’s surrounded by myrland! Has he fallen in but they can’t see him?”

Nodding lightly, Mister Crab waited patiently for the request he knew would follow.

“Can you make him visible again?” Joe cried urgently. “Would that help?”   
“I’m certain it would,” Mister Crab smiled to Joe’s relief.

While appreciating the round of congratulations from the group, Donnie was already trying to connect telepathically with Marcus; it was by far the quickest way to know what was happening, assuming Patrick was with him. Even as he approached a link with the Sandman, Donnie could feel the stress and panic in his mind, before hearing the desperate cry of ‘There!’

*

“There!” Marcus cried, pointing as the invisibility potion wore off almost an entire hour before he had expected it to.

Lying on his back, Patrick slowly became visible to them. His legs up to his knees were submerged in the swampy ground, similarly one arm was completely covered and the other had just that moment seen a layer of the thick, sticky ooze fold hover his right hand. Lying unconscious in the treacherous swampland, Patrick was almost supported by it, so preventing him from sinking quicker, but he was already in its dangerous grip. His knees slipped slowly below the surface as both Marcus and Silas stretched out their arms. Too far away to simply pull Patrick from the swamp, the brothers knew that they would have to rely on their powers to help him. A brilliant White, almost silvery, light extended from their hands and attached itself to Patrick. The pair glanced at each other for moral support as they began to try to pull Patrick from the swamp. Both princes possessed formidable powers and were considerably stronger than most. Even before beginning they had known that it was going to be a struggle, but even they weren’t prepared for the sheer level of suction the mud was displaying. Robert and Eleanor watched in hopeful silence as the two men worked to release Patrick from the grip of the swamp. Each time they managed to raise the singer an inch, the mud would reclaim him, slowly but surely pulling him further and further down. Straining against the pull of the myrland, it was obvious after only a few minutes that the brothers were struggling to prevent Patrick slipping deeper into the marsh. Sweat beads formed on both their brows and, gritting their teeth, they fought the trembling sensation, as their arms grew ever weaker; drained by the battle. 

“I can’t…” Marcus hissed as, to his distress, Patrick sank even deeper. “Silas?”

Marcus spared a glance at his brother who suddenly appeared very pale and was visibly shaking from the effort. After so much torture by the slavers, Allandra and his time secured to the Stans Plate, Silas was already severely weakened and exhausted. The strain he was currently enduring was too much even for the comparatively healthy Sandman to bear. It was far too much for his brother.

“Silas, you have to stop, you’re going to kill yourself!”  
“I can’t,” he replied through gritted teeth. “We’ll lose him.”

The light emanating from Silas was already dimming and flickering and Marcus knew that every last ounce of energy was being poured into that one act. The idea that he was killing himself suddenly didn’t seem like an overstatement. Extended a tendril of energy from his other hand, Marcus sent it in Silas’ direction. At the slightest touch, the crackle of electricity disorientated the Benzedrine to the point that his concentration was lost. Falling backwards into Robert’s ready arms, Silas’ eyes rolled back in their sockets as he passed out.

Stepping closer to her eldest son, Eleanor placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. The action had much the same effect as Marcus’ intervention. With a panicked gasp, he slipped inelegantly to his knees, falling forward as he landed. A cry of horror emerged from his lips as saw Patrick sink deeper still, now fully submerged from the waist down and his right arm covered as far as his elbow. 

“B… But!” Marcus stammered.  
“You mustn’t worry, my darling, but you must call for Donnie; he has to help me.”  
“Donnie?” Marcus frowned, puzzled by the statement. His powers were far stronger than Donnie’s… Weren’t they?  
“Please, Marcus, quickly.”

Eleanor sent out a soft blue light from her hand, bathing Patrick in its gentle glow. Not only did it seem to prevent Patrick sinking deeper, but Marcus beamed in welcome surprise as he felt may even have lifted an inch, or two.

“My Lady,” a voice came as the Catcher appeared at her side. “We were nearby. I linked to Marcus earlier, I was already on my way when you called.”  
“Donnie, you know what to do,” she replied.

Standing at Eleanor’s side, Donnie too stretched out his arm. This time a darker, almost electric blue light emanated from him and seemed to physically wrap itself around Patrick. Marcus watched partly with curiosity and partly with concern as the two different coloured lights combined and seemed to form the outlines of dozens of small hands, each placed with the fingers curling beneath the top layer of the swamp. At a simple nod from his mother, Marcus gasped in surprise as both their lights seemed to pulsate and slowly the hands grew larger. Each one growing tenfold until they touched side by side, the very act of which lifted Patrick until his arms and legs were almost clear of the myrland’s deadly grip. With a last burst of effort, the thick, clinging ooze relinquished its hold on the still unconscious singer and he was carried to the relative safety of the narrow path. 

The small group stood in silence for a few moments, Marcus still exhausted from his own exertions and now Eleanor and Donnie too seemed in need of a brief rest. Sparing a glance to ensure that both Silas and Patrick seemed well enough, Marcus turned back to his mother who sighed lightly, almost sensing the battle to come.

“I know what you want to ask, Marcus, but now isn’t the time or the place.”  
“You’re my mother! That’s a familial power!” Marcus shouted. “Donnie is… was… I thought he was my best friend! What is he really?”  
“Marcus, please, can we address this at home? It concerns Silas too and it’s not fair to…”  
“Not fair! You can talk about fair? I just find out that you’ve bestowed a familial power on Donnie but you won’t tell me why!”  
“I will tell you why, Marcus, but I will not be brow-beaten by you into explanations in the middle of a dangerous section of myrland. We will get away from here find your friends and go home. And then, and only then, in the quiet comfort of the palace, I will… we will explain everything to both of you. Do you understand me, Marcus?”

Still angry, but much subdued, Marcus nodded, his head bowed and his arms folded across his chest.

“I don’t really have much choice, do I?” he grumbled, half hoping for sympathy, but Eleanor wasn’t taking the bait.  
“Do you have sufficient strength returned to transport Silas? I will take Patrick.”  
“What? You don’t want Donnie to do it?” the still angry Sandman complained.  
“Robert, I’m sorry you’ve had to witness this display,” Eleanor sighed with embarrassment.   
“You’re apologising for me?” Marcus’ eyes opened wide in equal measures of astonishment and shame.  
“Yes, I am!” Eleanor replied firmly. “You’re behaving like a petulant child who wants his own way all the time.”  
“Not all the time!” Marcus snapped. “I just found out my parents have been lying to me my whole life, that’s all. And this isn’t the only time! What about father spying on us? What about him arranging for our Aides to report that I was trying to destroy Silas’ life and he was trying to destroy mine? He nearly got us both killed! What about the fact that Silas is so afraid of him that he didn’t give his entire itinerary to him for fear he’d stop him?”  
“He would have been right to stop him, wouldn’t he?” Eleanor folded her arms to match her son, her eyes narrowed and angry.  
“Well… Maybe that’s true, but the rest is…”  
“The rest will wait until we are at home!” Eleanor snapped authoritatively. “As will your defiance of us!”

Marcus silenced instantly. There was something about his mother’s tone that told him to pull back and let the argument go. Suddenly, the absence of his father from the conversation became important. For the first time in his life, he knew that the things he felt would be better off heard not internalised. His father, although still formidable and even intimidating, had already proven himself to be kind-hearted and caring. Most of all, he had admitted making mistakes over their upbringing. Perhaps this would be one of those mistakes? Perhaps there would be good reason behind it all? Suddenly, Marcus felt his mother’s pain and discomfort, noticing too that both Donnie and even Robert appeared awkward.

“I’m sorry,” he finally admitted, his tone genuinely contrite. “Everyone. I was a little emotional from the strain. I’m sorry.”

Smiling proudly, Eleanor leaned forward and pulled her son into a gentle embrace.

“Let’s go home,” she whispered into his ear, receiving a grateful and heartfelt squeeze in return.


	23. What are you waiting for? Kiss her! Kiss her!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benzedrine and Laura kiss and once back home, Lord Joshua begins a long needed talk with his boys

Nodding appreciatively as he noticed that Robert had made the unconscious Benzedrine as comfortable as possible; his rolled up jacket making a serviceable pillow, Marcus crouched down at Silas’ side and smiled reflectively. His brother’s soft, fine blond hair was being lightly ruffled by the marsh breeze, sweeping low over the myrland, otherwise, he could have looked as if he was at home merely sleeping.

“I wish this had been the other way around,” he sighed. “You’re so much better at handling this sort of thing than I am.”  
“Not really,” came the hoarse and unexpected reply.  
“Si?” Sandman cried, concerned yet elated to hear him wake so soon. “You should be resting… asleep!”  
“No,” the exhausted Benzedrine raised an arm and waving it vaguely in the direction of his brother’s hand, now ready to initiate an enforced sleep.  
“Silas you have to rest,” Marcus frowned with worry. “Let me do this, let me help.”  
“No… I have my reasons, trust me Marcus, I’m okay.”

The Sandman sat back on his heels, shaking his head.

“What’s your reason? What could be more important than your health?”  
“I’m a doctor, Marcus,” Silas frowned. “I’m perfectly capable of knowing if I’m okay to walk or not.”

Marcus lowered his head. All he wanted to do was help his little brother; he was worried about him. Yes, it was true that Silas was better placed to know if he was well enough to walk, but…

“I’m sorry,” Silas interrupted his thoughts. “It’s nothing to do with that. Not really. And I do appreciate what you’re trying to do, Marcus. Please stop thinking I don’t. I just… I need to be awake.”  
“But… Oh!” Marcus grinned broadly. “I see now,” he nodded knowingly causing his younger brother to blush a fierce red.

Standing in one fluid movement, Marcus reached down a hand to help Silas to his feet. His balance now shaky and unsteady, Silas took longer than he had expected to rise, standing still for a few moments before daring to even try to move his feet. All the while Marcus was beaming at him.

“You’re going to do it?” he asked, still grinning.  
“Well, yeah,” still blushing Silas averted his eyes, wringing his hands in his awkwardness. “I thought I might.”  
“You should!” Marcus pulled him into a hug. “Don’t be worried, Si, it’ll be fine, trust me.”  
“You really think so?” the Benzedrine asked nervously. “I mean, really?”

Pulling back from the hug, the Sandman held his brother’s arms and nodded confidently.

“I know it.”

*

“Where is he?” Pete frowned as he scanned the horizon. “He said he’d be back by now.”  
“He said, ‘as soon as he could’, Pete,” Joe corrected. “We don’t know what he had to do when he got there.”  
“What if he’s not coming back?” Pete grew increasingly agitated.  
“Why wouldn’t he?” Andy sighed at the unlikely scenario.  
“Something’s gone wrong and he’s…” Pete frowned deeply as Andy chuckled. “What?” Pete snapped.

Andy raised an eyebrow and waited.

“What?” Pete repeated before crying out in surprise at the sight of the man suddenly visible next to him. “So…” he began breathlessly. “You’re back?”  
“I told you I would be,” Donnie gave a half smile.

Andy turned a worried frown in the direction of his counterpart. The normally easy going Catcher was obviously troubled. Had something gone wrong? Was Patrick or one of the brothers injured? He felt certain that he would have said something by now if that were the case, but certainly something had bothered him deeply. Donnie turned a faint, forced smiled toward Andy; it was almost as if he had heard his thoughts. Perhaps he had, but for now he was giving nothing away. Within seconds they noticed that the Catcher was readying himself. A buzz of excitement filled the air as they realised that their friends were on their way. From high above them, they could make out a number of dark shapes descending rapidly. The first to arrive was Eleanor, slowing to a graceful, virtual stop only inches from the ground before finally allowing her shoes to gently meet the soft soil beneath her. At the same time, Donnie was easing Robert to his feet, having caught him expertly only moments before. The small group gathered nearby smiled broadly to see three more shapes, indicating that everyone was accounted for. Patrick, still unconscious, was slowed dramatically by an additional power that Donnie possessed, securing him a gentler landing. Marcus raised an eyebrow at the sight, but said nothing.

“Don’t make it too obvious,” Silas whispered as he got within feet of the ground.  
“Nobody’s going. To notice, Si, I promise you.” Marcus reassured him as he helped the still shaky and exhausted Silas to land. “Everyone’s looking at Patrick anyway.”  
“Not everyone,” Silas corrected pointedly.  
“There,” Marcus smiled. “No one noticed.”

Silas checked himself over and sighed deflated. His shirt was dirty, the frill torn, his bow tie long since gone, the braid shoulder trim, tattered and frayed, and his suit scuffed, dirty and torn in places. He didn’t remember the last time he had seen his hat and he didn’t want to think about the condition of his make up. He looked a mess. How could he do it now? His confidence was already at a low ebb and now as he tried to work up some courage, all he could manage were reasons why he should simply give up.

“Do it,” Marcus whispered in his ear. “Trust me.”

Sighing, Silas turned his head to look at the group standing nearby. As he had expected, Pete, Joe and Andy had clustered around Patrick and were checking he was well, despite being unconscious. He also noted with a faint smile that Marcus had distracted Robert and his mother and Mister Crab were keeping a discreet distance. That only left one person.

Offering a shy smile, Silas tried hard to move towards Laura but his feet refused to cooperate. To his annoyance, he knew that it had nothing to do with his weakness or the trauma he had recently suffered. No, this little problem was purely as a result of terminal shyness. He had always been like this. He found it almost impossible to talk to women, well, certainly anyone he was interested in. It didn’t help that he didn’t look his best. Ironically, he knew that Laura had been ill-treated by the slavers for two years, she stood in rags, her hair in desperate need of a comb. But none of that mattered to him; to him she was beautiful. He also believed fully that none of those things would matter to her either, but somehow his own appearance mattered to him. It was as if he felt that he really didn’t deserve her affection and she would turn him down out of hand. His shabby appearance could be blamed, but it was almost certainly going to be his dullness or his looks. He didn’t think of himself as particularly attractive. No, Marcus was the dark, mysterious one. The cheeky glint in his eye, the mischievous smile, the sense of danger that followed him like a shadow all attracted ladies in droves. But he, Silas, was never so fortunate. But here was a real beauty; he could easily imagine her in a stunningly elegant dress and nothing, he was certain, was beautiful enough to do her justice. He had never been lucky in love, but he really only needed to be lucky once. No. No, he was not going to ask. If this happened, it would be because it was meant to, because they both wanted it. Not because Mister Crab forced the issue.

Silas flushed pink as he realised he had been standing there for far too long contemplating all of this. He should be doing something. Saying something! But what? Looking up, he almost staggered backwards as he noticed Laura now standing directly in front of him.

“Hello Silas,” she smiled shyly. “I’m so glad you’re all right. I was really worried about you.”  
“Really?” he smiled hopefully in return. “Me too! I mean…” he blushed again as he stumbled on his words. “I mean, I was worried about you.”  
“I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again,” she replied, lowering her eyes briefly, coyly.  
“I would have found you,” he nodded. “No matter what.”

Marcus smiled, sneaking a discreet glance. That was a good line. He made a mental note to remember it. But it was obvious from the easy way Silas had delivered it, that he meant every word. He knew from the way they were looking at each other that neither of them had noticed that Patrick had woken, and the small gathering had begun to notice that there was something very wonderful just beginning only a few feet away.

“I… I missed you,” Silas smiled, feeling a little more confident.  
“I missed you too,” Laura reached out her hand and took Silas’ fingers in hers.

Marcus watched. It was sweet, it was tender, it was driving him crazy.

“What are you waiting for? Kiss her!” he cried. “Kiss her!”

Silas and Laura couldn’t help but laugh at the comment, but within moments they were in each other’s arm, to the accompaniment of a rousing cheer. They would have been embarrassed, but by now they simply didn’t care. Silas smiled to himself. Just lucky once. That’s all he needed, and this felt like the one.

“Just how long has he been putting lyrics in your dreams?” Patrick whispered to Pete.  
“I’m scared to ask,” Pete shook his head, his smile broadening as the kiss lengthened. “I think we need to get them back home, don’t you?”

*

As they broke their kiss, both Silas and Laura were blushing and giggling, embarrassed to see themselves being watched by the group. Slowly, however, one of the onlooker’s faces changed dramatically into a dark scowl as he remembered something.

“Where is he?” Marcus growled bitterly.

Momentarily as all eyes looked away from him and Laura and fell on Marcus, Silas felt a wave of self-conscious relief until, of course, he realised who his brother was talking about.

“Well?” Marcus prompted. “Where is he?”  
“You mean Francis?” Joe asked quietly, his subdued tone actually calming the livid Sandman a fraction.  
“Yes,” he snapped through gritted teeth.  
“What is this?” Eleanor stepped forward, protective of her son and sensing from the change in the group’s atmosphere something was very wrong.  
“My Lady,” Donnie began. “Marcus was betrayed to Allandra by a man rescued from the slavers who had taken Silas. We presumed he would help us find him, but he was doing everything he could to stop us.”  
“Why?” Eleanor asked with a puzzled frown. “Was he working for the slavers? I thought the Locator was female?”

Laura lowered her eyes. She couldn’t help but feel guilt for both being forced to use her powers to help the slavers in the first place and also for Francis’ interest in her nearly causing her new found love, plus his family and friends to lose their lives.

“Shh,” Silas whispered in her ear as he pulled her comfortingly close. “None of that was your fault.”

Picking up on the whispered words, Eleanor turned a piercing gaze toward the young couple.

“You’re the Locator?” she raised an eyebrow.  
“Mother, she…” Silas began, only to be interrupted.  
“Silas” she spoke sternly. “I believe your friend is capable of answering for herself.”  
“Yes, My Lady,” Laura replied with a slight nod of her head.  
“You were a prisoner on the slave ship?”  
“For nearly two years, My Lady,” Laura answered.  
“But you helped them?”  
“Mother, I can tell you…”  
“Silas, please.” Eleanor interrupted him, trying hard not to seem too harsh. “You were about to say?”  
“I was led to believe that they would murder my brother if I didn’t help them,” Laura lowered her eyes, trying not to let the stinging behind them overwhelm her.  
“Mother!” Silas stepped in, sounding bith angry and apprehensive at the same time, and placing a protective arm around Laura. “This is not the time and certainly not in front of everyone!”

Eleanor smiled kindly. As she had always known, Silas’ nature was one of caring and protecting. It was probably why he made such an excellent doctor; he really cared for his patients. And now, as she looked into his eyes, the concern for the woman closely wrapped in his arms was more than evident.

“I’m a good judge of character, Silas,” she smiled. “There’s no need to convince me.” Turning a smile toward the young woman who had fought back her tears and managed to look up once more, Eleanor continued: “I gather you acted very bravely in trying to save my boys from harm. Thank you,” she added warmly. “You two have my blessing.”

Silas smiled broadly, pulling Laura closer still in his exuberance.

“Silas! Let me breathe!” Laura chuckled, wrapping her arms around him to return the overly tight hug.  
“Sorry,” he laughed in reply.

Marcus found his anger softening as he saw the open happiness in his brother’s eyes. In this one respect, it had all been worth it, but he still wanted to know what had become of the man who had arranged his capture.

“Well, Donnie?” Eleanor picked up the conversation once more.  
“He wanted Laura for himself and was doing everything he could to keep us from finding Silas. Mister Crab sent him to a Penal Colony.”

Eleanor glanced at Mister Crab who merely bowed his head politely in return.  
Nodding her thanks, Eleanor was keen to express her gratitude for his thorough protection.

“So, I see that quite a lot has happened,” she commented.  
“Mister Crab said that Silas and Marcus would have the final say over where he was to be executed or not.” Joe explained, not quite sure how the Carouselians would react to that particular piece of news.  
“Actually, I merely pointed out that they would have the authority to release him if they so wished,” Mister Crab corrected.  
“Indeed they do, so, Marcus and Silas?” Eleanor turned a matter-of-fact stare at the pair. “Another thing to discuss once we get home.”

Marcus glanced briefly at the mildly concerned Benzedrine – as if there wasn’t already enough to discuss!  
“Can we please go home?” Silas pleaded, glad to finally use the phrase he never thought he’d ever say again.

*

It was just what he needed. Back in his old room at the palace, or more specifically the deep sunken bath, the heated water constantly maintained at his favourite temperature. Silas felt his muscles relaxing almost as if they were doing so one by one. His lower back was stiff and sore, but now beginning to loosen as the jets of bubbles lightly massaged him. Lying back and sighing, part of him expected to wake up any minute and find himself in dire trouble again. So many terrible things had happened to him over the last few weeks, but at the same time, so many great things. They had met the Normal Worlders, Mister Crab and of course, he had met Laura. Picking up the bar of soap, he smiled to himself. He wanted nothing more than to make himself look presentable for her, to look after her. He knew that somewhere in the palace, she too was relaxing, he was certain they would find her something nice to wear. He hoped, above all, that she would be happy… with him.

Glancing at the clock, he knew he was running short of time. He had already been reunited with his father, and it was a happy reunion, but soon it would be time for a meeting with him and Marcus. A much more formal meeting, and one that was unlikely to go well.

*

“Hey,” came a soft subdued voice.

Looking up and turning his gaze down the long corridor, decorated with paintings of past rulers and their families, Silas smiled as he saw Marcus approaching. The pair, once again, immaculately groomed having bathed and changed; things were truly starting to feel as though they had arrived home. As Marcus finally entered the ante-room to their father’s office, Silas noticed the ornate clock on the mantel and smiled wryly.

“You’re early,” he commented.  
“You’re very early,” Marcus returned, his tone utterly devoid of sarcasm, the sound of which almost unnerved the Benzedrine.  
“I’m a little worried,” Silas offered in the hope that an admission may encourage Marcus to feel comfortable enough to open up to him.

Flopping down on the couch alongside his brother, Marcus stretched out his legs and sighed.

“I’m not,” he finally replied.  
“You’re not?” Silas asked; uncertain if his brother was serious or perhaps starting to build yet another protective wall.  
“No,” Marcus turned a glance toward him. “I’m terrified!”  
“Marcus? But why? I mean, yeah, father will yell at us and I’ll be grounded for life! But…”  
“It’s not that,” Marcus interrupted with a quiet, strangely subdued voice.

 

Marcus stared down at his hands and an awkwardness settled over him like a blanket. Uncharacteristically tongue-tied, the Sandman was clearly concerned about something that really mattered a great deal to him and he was finding it practically impossible to articulate his feelings.

“Is it Donnie?” Silas finally asked in a sympathetic tone.

Marcus turned his head to look at his brother, offering a grateful smile.

“You’ve got that down, haven’t you?”  
“What?” Silas asked; puzzled by the question and the knowing expression that accompanied it.  
“The whole sympathetic doctor with a comforting beside manner act,” Marcus explained with a chuckle.  
Silas laughed softly in return and shrugged. “It’s not an act, Marcus, I am concerned and I’m worried about you.”  
“I know,” Marcus gave a sincere nod.  
“So, what is it that you’re worried about? I mean, I know it’s Donnie, but…”  
“I’m finding out what it’s like when people lie. We’ve been lied to, Si. All our lives – by our parents and maybe even by Donnie. I… I don’t like it and I’m angry, but after all the lies I’ve told over the years, I… Well, now I’m getting an inkling of how people feel when I do it; how much I let them down. I don’t deserve to feel anything but shame for the way I’ve behaved.”  
“That’s a good start, Marcus,” came a gruff voice from their left, “but I think you can do better than that.”

Turning sharply, both brothers saw their father standing in the doorway of his private office.

 _Damn it!_ Thought Marcus with a internal groan. _For a big man, he’s light on his feet!_

“Come in,” Joshua stepped back to allow more room.

As his two sons traipsed unwillingly into the plain and functional office. They were men, but right now Joshua couldn’t help but view them as boys, and mischievous boys at that. Yet they had both acted bravely, with great determination and courage. He was really very proud of them, and maybe he’d get to that later, but first there were other matters to discuss.

As they entered, Silas and Marcus’ hearts began to race as they saw Donnie and their mother already waiting in the room. Discreetly, Silas gave a comforting pat on Marcus’ back as the pair walked to the centre of the room and waited.

“Please, sit down,” Eleanor suggested comfortingly.

Marcus was the first to sit, and he did so, quickly, nervously. It was obvious that he was on edge, worried about what he might hear. Reserving judgement as best he could, Silas slid into the seat alongside his brother and gave a reassuring smile to Donnie who, from his hunched and fidgeting stance, clearly felt uncomfortable and awkward. Marcus’ obvious tension wasn’t helping the Catcher feel any better and Silas could see it was wearing him down. Whatever the issue was, Silas was now sure that he was aware of it, but he was still their friend.

“I’ll be honest,” Eleanor began. “I never wanted to tell you this… Ever. And when I do, you’ll know why and you’ll understand why Donnie wanted it kept from you too.”  
“So, you do know!” Marcus spat accusingly.  
“Yeah,” Donnie replied quietly, unable even to look at Marcus.  
“Let your mother speak, Marcus!” Joshua growled, aware of just how difficult this was for his wife to do. She had insisted on telling the story, he had refused, but she seldom lost an argument with her husband.  
“Marcus,” Silas rubbed his back. “Just listen.”

After a moment’s pause, Eleanor continued.

“Marcus, when you were very small, before Silas was born, there was an attempt on the throne. It was a very dark time for us and I’ll admit I had never been so scared in all my life, until recently, when it all came flooding back.”

Both Marcus and Silas frowned at the statement, puzzled by the words and worried for their mother. Willing her to explain further and quickly,

“Ruler Owen, who usurped the throne centuries ago had a daughter and a granddaughter that he never actually met because he was overthrown before she was born. We weren’t aware as the daughter fled and raised her in poverty rather than the riches she was used to. I imagine in bitterness too. My brother, Anthony met and secretly married her, but even then we had no idea who she was. Suspicious almost from the beginning, Master Spyvie, then and now one of our best agents did some investigation, but by the time he found out her background and true intention, it was almost too late. Anthony stormed the palace with his followers, intent on taking the throne. They held us in the dungeons and…” Eleanor’s voice cracked. “Marcus, they took you away from me. I was so scared, I didn’t know if you were okay. I was frantic.”  
“That’s why you’ve had us watched all our lives?” Silas asked.  
“I couldn’t risk anyone taking either of you away from me ever again,” Eleanor explained.  
“Lying about your itinerary cause us to lose track of you,” Joshua added with muted anger in his tone. “And you know what happened then, don’t you!”  
“It brought it all back to us,” Eleanor explained to the shamed boys.  
“And Donnie?” Marcus prompted.  
“Master Spyvie mobilised troops and managed to retake the palace and restore the throne and he found you, my dear Marcus, sound asleep oblivious to the whole thing,” Eleanor smiled faintly. “Anthony was…”  
“He was dealt with,” Joshua avoided actually saying the words as he comforted his wife.  
“Rachel, Owen’s granddaughter was pregnant at the time, so we waited until she gave birth before sentencing.”  
“Donnie?” Marcus asked.  
“We couldn’t raise him as our own, it would potentially alter the succession, but we found a good loving home for him.”  
“So, he’s our cousin?” Silas asked.  
“But why couldn’t you tell us?” Marcus asked, confused. “You told Donnie.”  
“When Donnie started to grow up, he found he had powers that he had inherited from his father, powers that I too shared. His adoptive family asked us to explain because it was worrying him. We couldn’t tell you because…”  
“I asked them not to,” Donnie interrupted.  
“Why?” Marcus frowned.  
“Marcus, you are and even then, you were my best friend. I’m the son of the man who tried to imprison your parents and take the throne. They might have killed them, they might have killed you! How could you still like me knowing that?”

Marcus stared up from his seat, his brow creased in concern. Jumping suddenly from his seat, he launched himself at Donnie, who took a step back in surprise. Finding himself even more surprised as Marcus threw his arms around him.

“You idiot!” Marcus cried. “You’ve been worried about nothing! You weren’t even born! How could you possibly think it could be a problem?”  
“Well… I…” Donnie stammered, finally giving in and simply accepting the forgiveness of his best friend.

Silas rose calmly and quietly to his feet and pulled his mother into a warm embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he said, choking back tears. “I’ll never put you through that ever again. I promise.”  
“Now, my dear, and Donnie,” Joshua began after a suitable pause. “I need to speak to the boys alone.”

Both Marcus and Silas drew back from their respective embraces, each frowning.

“That wasn’t it?” Marcus asked hopefully.  
“That was far from _it_ , Marcus!” Joshua replied, suppressing a smile.


	24. Honouring the Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And is that a wedding on the horizon? You'll find out if you read the next instalment - You're A Legend

“I want one of these,” Pete grinned broadly as he relaxed back on the comfortable reclining chair. No matter how he moved, the chair and its soft, yet, supportive, cushions seemed to mould itself perfectly to his shape, offering the ultimate in comfort.  
“Hmm?” Patrick appeared to ask out of interest, but, deep in the comfort of his own chair, he barely even registered that his friend had spoken.  
“I said, I want one of these,” Pete repeated.  
“Hmm?”  
“Are you listening to me, Trick?” Pete’s mouth almost formed a frown, but it was quickly snatched away from him, as somehow the chair seemed to become even more comfortable.  
“Hmm?”  
“Never mind,” Pete sighed, easing further back into the cushions.

“How do they work?” Joe smirked as he watched his two bandmates almost have a conversation.  
“They’re dream chairs,” Donnie replied with a slight laugh. “They’re designed to help you relax. The more tense you feel, the more comfortable they become.”  
“Patrick must be extremely tense then,” Andy noted. “He looks like he’s about to melt into that chair.”  
“Then he’s about done with it,” Donnie shrugged. “Like I said, the more tense the more comfortable. He’ll probably start to fidget in a little while. Of course, that may make him tense again, so it’ll get comfortable again. He’ll probably never get up.”  
“I’m beginning to see why Pete wants one,” Joe laughed.  
“Can I get one for you?” Donnie asked.  
“No, thanks, I prefer my chairs without a mind of their own.”

*

Laura glanced up at the light rapping on the door to her room. Having not emerged from within the ornate and beautifully decorated room since their arrival, Laura perhaps shouldn’t have been surprised at the attention.

“Come in,” she called nervously.

As the door opened, Laura curtseyed immediately, earning a light laugh from Eleanor.

“Please, my dear, if you’re dating my son, you have to stop doing that.”  
“But… I…”

Eleanor smiled; the dress fitted perfectly. She had hoped it would. She had a good eye for detail and had instructed the royal outfitters to obtain a selection of clothes in what she believed was the correct size. She had been right about not only the size, but also the style and colours. Laura looked stunning. Two years on board a slave ship had hidden her good looks and delicate figure, but only two hours at the palace had restored everything.

“You look beautiful, my dear,” Eleanor extended a hand. “Won’t you join me in the garden?”  
“I was… I was waiting for Silas.”  
“He’ll be a little while yet and I hoped we could get to know each other better.”  
“It’s my fault they had him,” Laura blurted suddenly; the pain inherent in each word only too apparent.  
“As I understand it, you didn’t have a choice. Besides, at risk to yourself, you helped them both.”  
“Somehow it doesn’t seem to make up for the fact that but for me, they wouldn’t have been captured.”  
“There are a lot of things that wouldn’t have happened, but some of them needed to,” Eleanor replied cryptically.  
“I don’t understand,” Laura frowned.  
“I like you, Laura. I think you’re going to be good for Silas. Let me tell you this… If for no other reason than him finding you, I’m glad this happened. But, I have many reasons to be grateful to you. Please, walk with me.”

*

“What are you waiting for?” Marcus asked after a long pause, still unable to look his father in the eyes.  
“I’m deciding which of you to start with,” Joshua replied curtly as he circled his sons, now standing to attention in the centre of the room.  
Another few moments passed before Silas replied. “Start with me,” he offered.  
“Marcus,” Joshua began to audible groans from both his sons. “Tell me, what do you think I should do with you? And shall we bear in mind that I won’t be remotely moved by any self-pitying complaints.”

Marcus was at once insulted and ashamed. He knew his father was right. His typical response to anything where blame was being apportioned had once been to shirk responsibility. He would direct blame elsewhere, declare himself faultless or a victim of circumstance. But, somehow, he felt different this time. Seeing his best friend and now his cousin, take the blame for so many years for something that wasn’t even his fault had moved him. Lies… Blame… Guilt. They were all dangerous things if misused, as he had done all his life.

“I’m not going to complain, father. I completely did the wrong thing by going after Silas alone, and worse still taking Patrick and the guys along with me. It was dangerous and not only did I let you down, but I scared mother. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t know about what happened before Silas was born, I still shouldn’t have done it. It was very selfish of me. But, that said, now with hindsight, I see it worked and I wouldn’t change what I did, but I wouldn’t do it again.”

Joshua smiled faintly. Had his eldest finally grown up or had he just figured out the right thing to say to placate him?

“I’m not saying I won’t ever make a mistake, father, just that I won’t run headlong into things again without advice.”  
“Your punishment?” Joshua asked. “What should that be?”

Marcus lowered his eyes, barely daring to think about it.

“Well, Marcus?” Joshua prompted.  
“Anything you see fit, Sir,” Marcus mumbled.  
“In that case, you will prepare a one hour presentation on the virtues and necessities of planning, and not acting purely on impulse. You will deliver that to all schools in The Hills.”  
“What!” Marcus whined.  
“And there’s that self-pitying tone again, Marcus. I thought you’d left that behind?”  
“Yes, Sir,” Marcus visibly sagged as he stood before his father.  
“Good, you can go.”  
“B… But…” Marcus began, glancing at a very uncertain Silas.  
“I said go,” Joshua repeated in a voice that hinted at kindness.

Left alone in his father’s study, Silas felt suddenly even more vulnerable than he had on the slave ship. He didn’t know that he was exactly afraid of his father, but there was definitely some discomfort, he just couldn’t place what exactly.

“Silas,” Joshua sighed. “I’m really disappointed in you. Lying to us? Putting yourself in dangerous situations? I expected better. I expected more from you.”

Silas stared off into the middle distance, barely even taking in his father’s words. Something had hit a chord with him and, again, he didn’t know exactly what, but the reaction he felt was bubbling up inside him.

“I’m so sick of the way you treat us!” he yelled breaking from his stiff, upright pose and facing his father. “Look at you! If you could only see the expression on your face right now! There’s nothing there! No surprise, no anger, nothing. Like you don’t even care! And don’t tell me you expected me to say that, because I won’t believe you.”  
“Silas,” Joshua gestured with an open palm to a burgundy leather couch near the window, his tone quiet and surprisingly calm. “Please, sit down.”

Reluctantly, and thrown by the unexpected response, Silas moved to the large two-seater couch, taking the left hand side as his father took the right. Sighing heavily as he sat, Joshua stared ahead, as yet not addressing his son’s outburst. A few minutes later, he had still not said anything.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Silas finally asked.  
“I rather thought you had more to say, first.”

Silas swallowed nervously. By giving him the space to have his say before making any comment, Joshua had knocked much of the anger and bitterness out of his youngest son, leaving, he hoped, only the reason for his unhappiness.

“I’ve never lied to you… until now,” Silas admitted quietly. “And it wasn’t really a lie, it was… I just left some things out.”  
“Let’s not pretend it wasn’t a lie, son. We both know it was. What happened? Did you and Marcus somehow change places? Is he now the responsible one? Are you going to start lying to me?”

Silas stared down at his hands, frustrated by the knowledge of letting his father down and being unable to express how let down he felt.

“Your mother says you’re afraid of me. Is that true?”  
“No,” Silas shook his head, before sighing. “Yes, sort of. I’m not afraid of you, but I am scared all the time… I…”  
“What are you scared of?”  
“That I can’t live up to what you expect from me!”

Joshua nodded. This was the second half of the conversation that had begun after Silas’ last adventure. He had been almost killed by Marcus’ own nightmares and his sense of priorities and his needs had been dramatically altered. These last few weeks he had witnessed a change in his youngest. He was much more outgoing, even lively. He had viewed it as a good thing. Years of putting his dreams on hold to be the serious doctor, at odds with his own brother had suddenly and happily been turned upside down and in his own way, Silas had rebelled.

“Tell me what you think I expect from you, Silas.”  
“No! No, you can’t do this! I refuse to feel guilty about this!” Silas argued, rising from the couch and beginning to pace.  
“Really? Why?” Joshua pressed evenly.  
“Marcus has spent his life lying! And you accept that without question! You don’t punish him, you don’t even seem to care. But I lie to you once and suddenly I’ve let you down. You said it yourself, you expected better from me! It’s not fair! Why do I always have to be the one that lives up to what you expect?”  
“You think I treat you and Marcus differently?”  
“Yes, I do,” Silas mumbled, now calmer and feeling awkward as he stood in front of his father, still sitting, apparently relaxed, on the couch.  
“You’re right,” Joshua acknowledged. “I rely on you more, I give you more responsibility. In short, I treat you as if you were my first born.”  
“That’s not fair! It…” Silas’ voice dropped almost to a hushed whisper and he lowered his eyes, flopping back down onto the couch. “It’s not fair on Marcus. How do you think he feels about it?”  
“Is that what this is really about?”  
“Partly.” Silas shrugged, non-committal. “It’s a long time off, I… I hope. But what will happen when you…” Despite being a doctor, dealing with the reality of death on almost a daily basis, he still couldn’t form the word when speaking of his own father. “I can’t and Marcus isn’t ready.”  
“What makes you think you can’t take over when I’m gone?” Joshua asked in an even tone.  
“Marcus is the eldest… He…”

Joshua shook his head slowly and Silas’ words momentarily ground to a halt.

“What?” he began again, his tone one of exasperation. “You’re going to tell me now that I’m the oldest? That Marcus isn’t really my brother? What?”

Joshua gazed with concern at the stressed exhaustion in his son’s eyes. This entire conversation and all the things that had ever gone unsaid were wearing him down. As a doctor himself, Joshua felt that a long rest in his own hospital was inevitably on the cards for the drained Benzedrine.

“My dear son, everything is as you believe it to be, except for one thing.” Staring into Silas’ eyes, he saw only deep unhappiness that so much seemed suddenly beyond his reach. Everything that he had once trusted as fact was now under suspicion and it broke Joshua’s heart to see his son suffering so very much. “A couple of centuries after he took over Governorship of the Dream World, Marcus renounced his claim to the throne. He told me that it wasn’t something that he was interested in and that he thought you were better suited for the role. So you see…”  
“Probably because you were already training me in how to rule!”

Joshua narrowed his eyes at the words, his brow creasing as he thought back to the event in question. Had it been before or after he had begun to teach Silas all the things he would need to know as ruler?

“No, Silas, you’re wrong.” Joshua shook his head, satisfied with his recollection. “I didn’t begin your training until after he made his decision. I just never told you, in case he changed his mind… I never made it official.”  
“Did you never question him about it? Ask him why?” Silas sighed.  
“He told me… He wasn’t interested.”  
“And you believed him? You know what he’s like!” Silas insisted. “You know Marcus lives on his nerves. You know how insecure he is! He just got his refusal in before you turned him away.”

Joshua threw his head back as he took in the words; they were as hurtful as they were accurate, except for one detail.

“I would never have turned him away! I didn’t ask him to renounce the throne!”  
“He believed you’d banished him! He really did! He thought you preferred me to him. He…” Silas lowered his eyes, all the anger in him gone. “He wanted you to show that you wanted him to do it, that you thought he could.”  
“Of course I thought he could! I would never have given him the Dream World if I thought he couldn’t rule! What does he think he’s been doing for the last millennium? He’s a born ruler!”  
“Another misunderstanding!” Silas threw his arms up in despair. “He believes you think he’s not good enough.”  
“Oh no…” Joshua shook his head slowly. “How could I have got so much so wrong?”  
“But he knows now,” came a quiet, almost timid voice from the doorway.

Turning a pained and guilty expression towards the pale and unhappy looking Sandman standing just inside the door to the office, Joshua extended his arms.

“I… I was listening… outside,” Marcus admitted pointing behind himself. “It wasn’t just you, it was me too. I don’t help.”  
“Come here, Marcus… please?”

Edging forward, slowly at first, Marcus eventually broke into a run, ending in his father’s arms. Cradled in the firm yet gentle embrace, the tearful Sandman heard the words he never thought he would hear.

“I’m sorry, Marcus. We’re so different, you and I… I forget. You’ve learned that I’m so very sorry for letting this misunderstanding get so far, but I hope you’ve learned too that I’m not trying to make things worse for you… either of you. Please… I don’t want to hurt you and if I do, it’s not on purpose. Talk to me. I love you both so very much.”

At the words, Silas, who had merely been standing nearby joined the embrace and both father and sons sank into deepening happiness at their new found closeness. Standing in the doorway, unseen by the rest of her family, Eleanor smiled happily, relieved to see another longstanding issue resolved. Closing the door quietly, she walked away down the long corridor.

“Boys!” she laughed, shaking her head.  
“Are they okay?” Laura asked, rejoining her at the end of the corridor and now feeling a little more confident in Eleanor’s company.  
“They’re going to be just fine, my dear,” Eleanor smiled, wrapping a comforting arm around her. “Just fine.”

*

Joe looked out over the landscape, drinking in the scenery. The rolling green and brown hills on three sides, the vivid green, fast-flowing river, occasionally bubbling and the very infrequent glimpse of something strange on the surface. Nearby, the fairground rides that danced with a dazzling array of different colours, all blinking in time with the music that drifted on the light breeze. The sun was shining brighter than any sun Joe had ever seen. Impossibly, it seemed brighter than anywhere else he had been in Carousel and he wondered if it was some sort of illusion or if somehow it was simply brighter in The Hills.

“You’re going to miss it?”

Joe took a deep breath. He didn’t need to look, it was his own voice; he knew who was speaking to him.  
“Not really, Shoe,” he sighed. “They’ll make us forget before we leave. I won’t remember any of this, except maybe as if it were a dream.”  
“No, you’ll remember,” Mister Crab replied without explanation.  
“You think?” Joe shrugged. “They didn’t let us last time. Something about the rules, I honestly doubt they will this time.”  
“In this case, my dear Joe, time won’t tell you anything, but I will. You will remember.”

Joe turned a half-smile toward Mister Crab, he wanted to remember, he really did, but it seemed unlikely that they would allow it. Maybe if he were really lucky… Oh!

“You mean, if I ask for some luck?” Joe asked with his head tilted to one side.  
“No, you need not ask for that. Trust me, this is something I can tell you as fact.”

Joe looked at the almost sparkling landscape once more. He was grinning this time, it was fixed in his memory now and it was going to stay there, as were Marcus, Silas, Donnie and Shoe. It made him smile. They had been on some crazy adventures, certainly, and they had been near to death on more than one occasion, but he wanted to remember his new-found friends. Nodding to himself he realised that it made sense that they would allow them to remember this time.

“I must leave you know,” Mister Crab said in a soft and gentle tone. “Please, you must return to your friends.”  
“Do you have to go?” Joe asked. “You can’t come back and…”  
“I have to go. But… maybe one day?”

Joe smiled; he had grown quite close to and fond of his counterpart, however mysteriously and strangely he acted at times. Joe constantly had to remind himself that Mister Crab wasn’t of his world, or even Carousel, and knew that he lived by a different set of codes and morals. It was something he would never fully get used to, but he was aware of it, if not totally accepting.

 

“Joe!”

Joe turned to see Andy called from the arched gate leading to the palace gardens.

“We have to get back inside, there’s a ceremony in a few minutes.”  
“Ceremony?” Joe queried.  
Andy shrugged. “I didn’t ask.”  
“Okay,” Joe nodded. It wasn’t unusual; Andy’s easy going nature was almost legendary. “I’ll just say goodbye.”  
“Who to?” Andy frowned, tilting his head.  
“Shoe,” Joe turned to point to the man who had only moments earlier stood next to him, but there was no one near by. “He… He was just…” Joe shook his head; he doubted he would ever understand Mister Crab. “Coming,” he sighed.

*

“Tell me,” Eleanor poured a cup of tea into a fine china cup. Smiling she passed it to Laura. “What were your first impressions of Silas?”  
Laura smiled, blushing a pale pink as she thought back to their first meeting. “He was kind to me. I’d brought him into slavery, but he was kind to me.”  
“Laura, you must stop blaming yourself for what happened to him,” Eleanor smiled kindly as she offered a plate of perfectly circular pastries. “Krets?”  
“Thank you,” Laura replied, taking one of the proffered cakes. “But, my brother was the one who…”  
“My dear, I am aware of the situation, Silas has explained everything. You have nothing to reproach yourself for. He would certainly have done the same had Marcus been threatened. It must have been traumatic for you.”  
“I’m fine, My Lady.”  
Eleanor shook her head. “You must call me Eleanor.”  
“My Lady… it seems…”  
“Laura, I already have a nephew struggling with that one small detail, I won’t have it happen with you too. You will call me Eleanor and I won’t hear any more on that. Agreed?”  
“Yes, M… Yes, Eleanor.”

Eleanor smiled again. She didn’t believe herself to be so intimidating; perhaps it was the job.

“I didn’t know who Silas is when I met him,” Laura explained, partly wanting to convince Eleanor that she wasn’t interested purely for his title and wealth.  
“Yes,” Eleanor nodded. “I believe that his abhorrence of his title probably saved him to an extent. He told me that a Reader ransacked his mind. If he had thought of himself as His Highness, The Lord Silas, then I think maybe things may have been significantly worse for him. As it is, a Benzedrine, whilst still a rarity for the slavers, he was considerably less conspicuous than if they had been aware of his lineage. But you, Laura, do you have family somewhere?”  
Laura shook her head. “My parents died several years ago. At first, my brother was looking after both of us, but I refused to help him find lost treasure, money and so on. I couldn’t, powers don’t work like that; he didn’t understand.”  
“He had no powers?” Eleanor cocked her head; it was unusual for only one family member to have powers, especially the younger member.  
“He did when we were young, but he found a way to misuse them. We both had special sight. I’m a Locator, but he was a Visior. People would go to him to find out what was in their futures. Sometimes he would read a future with fortune and steal it.”  
“That’s possible?” Eleanor asked, surprised.  
“A loop hole in the system, I think. As long as it happened, whose future it belonged to could be changed.”  
“I believe we need to discuss a number of little details with Mister Crab,” Eleanor replied conversationally as she poured more tea into Laura’s cup.  
“I… I do love him,” Laura stammered suddenly.

Eleanor leaned forward, and smiling reassuringly, she placed a hand over Laura’s.

“I know you do, my dear. Silas is a good man. Gentle, thoughtful and kind.” Eleanor nodded as she sat back in her chair. “Sometimes he can be a little serious, and I’m hoping that you can draw that out and help him to relax a little. He… he’s been quite self reliant and contained over the years, but he does need someone. Someone equally gentle, someone who will guide him when he needs guidance, listen when he needs to talk, protect, care for and love him just because he is who he is.”  
“I can do all of those things,” Laura answered with absolute sincerity.  
“I know,” Eleanor smiled. “I know because I already see it in you. Now, the ceremony is about to begin and I think you’ve had quite enough of me and you want to see Silas. I can see that in your eyes too.”

Laura blushed and laughed at the same time. Eleanor seemed to know her thoughts entirely. Perhaps she had read her mind, but more likely, it was written plainly in her expression. Rising with Eleanor, Laura couldn’t help but feel a bond with her. Eleanor clearly loved her sons deeply and expected any potential suitors to do so also. It was sweet, but Laura felt happy and a deep sense of satisfaction that she was able to promise all the things that Eleanor wanted for her youngest son. She was absolutely certain that no one could ever love Silas as much as she did. All she could hope was that her affections would always be returned. Even as she thought the words, Eleanor placed her arm across her shoulders.

“You are perfect for each other. I see just as much in his eyes as yours.”

*

Marcus was fidgeting.

Standing at the front of the chamber wearing dress uniforms, the pair looked both smart and dignified. Representing the Dream World, Sandman wore a jet-black uniform trimmed with gold buttons and braid. Under his arm, he held a black military-style cap with a rigid gold coloured peak. He would have looked elegant, but for his obvious discomfort. Representing the Waking World, Benzedrine wore a matching uniform in white, also with gold trim and braid. Standing straight, with shoulders back and clearly at ease in the outfit, Benzedrine was the very picture of dignity and poise.

“Stop fidgeting!” Silas scolded quietly.  
Marcus frowned and looked up from trying to adjust his jacket. “It’s not my fault! This is really uncomfortable.”  
“No, it isn’t, you’re just not used to it, that’s all.”  
“It’s too tight!” Marcus complained.  
“It’s not tight, it’s fitted,” Silas corrected.  
“It’s tight! It’s all right for you, you’re used to wearing this sort of thing, I’m not!”  
“Is it my fault if I’m naturally elegant?” Silas smirked at his brother’s exasperated expression.  
“I just prefer something a little more… free.”  
“You wear boots so long that they almost double as pants, plus you wear that ridiculous contraption around your waist and you talk about free!”  
“That contraption keeps my boots up!” Marcus argued indignantly.  
“You wouldn’t need it if you didn’t have boots that come up to your neck!”  
“I’ll have you know those boots have been highly sought after!” Marcus shrugged. “Admittedly, mostly be thieves, but sought after nonetheless. Silas? Are you listening to me?”

But he wasn’t and in moments, Marcus knew why. Standing only feet away, near the Dias, alongside their mother, was Laura and she looked stunning. Silas’ eyes glazed and he was no longer aware of another soul in the room. Laura didn’t need her powers, a brief sweep of the room revealed the only person she wanted to see and he was already looking straight at her.

“Well, go on!” Marcus pushed his brother gently.

Almost stumbling from the unexpected light shove, Silas moved forward. Tucking his cap under his arm, he strode - Laura thought, confidently, Silas thought, stiffly - to her side. A momentary pause as he stared at her, the pair almost eye to eye. He felt as though his heart might stop at the sheer beauty of the vision before him. There was no need for any prompting this time. Scooping her into his arms, Silas placed his lips on hers, gently at first, but with increasing urgency while somehow remaining a tender moment. Brushing her hair lightly from her face, as he pulled back slowly from the kiss, Silas couldn’t help but smile as he looked adoringly into her large and pretty eyes.

“I love you,” he caressed her cheek. “Please don’t go back to your own district. We can bring all your family here… anything, but please don’t go.”  
“All my family is you.”

 

Silas almost welled up at the sweetness of the reply. Pulling her into his arms again, Silas only broke the kiss as he heard his mother clear her throat.

“Silas, perhaps you would like to take your place? This is an Honour Ceremony after all.”  
“Yes, mother,” Silas replied, somewhat embarrassed.  
“Laura will be perfectly all right with Donnie for now.”  
“Yes, of course,” Silas smiled shyly and squeezed Laura’s hand. “Later,” he smiled with a brief nod.

Leading Laura to the first row of seats, Silas smiled at Donnie as he rose to meet them.

“I’ll look after her, Silas, don’t worry.” Donnie grinned in return. “And… can’t you get Marcus to stop fidgeting?” Silas looked behind at his brother now on the Dias still tugging with obvious discomfort at his jacket.

“I doubt it, but I’ll try,” he sighed. “Where are… Oh, here they are.”

From a side entrance, Ambrose, Joshua’s Chief Aide, entered, escorting Patrick, Pete, Joe and Andy to their seats alongside Donnie and Laura.

“You’re rested?” Silas asked, smiling cheerfully at his friends and rescuers.  
“Yeah!” Patrick replied enthusiastically, with murmurs and nods of agreement from Pete and Andy.  
“Joe? Are you okay?” Silas added.  
“I’m good, thanks,” Joe nodded.

Silas’ brow creased slightly. Joe seemed distracted, but there was no time to think about it as the fanfare began.

“Sorry, I have to be up there,” Silas turned and headed quickly back onto the Dias to stand next to Marcus. “Stop fidgeting!” he added as he rejoined his brother’s side.  
“All right!” Marcus hissed in return.

The heavy and ornate floor to ceiling doors opened wide allowing two lines of men and women of The Guard to line the corridor between the rows of seats. Through the centre, Robert Sergeant walked slowly towards the Dias, dressed in a dark grey uniform with silver buttons, braid and trim. Directly ahead, stood Lord Joshua, in his Robes of State of fur trimmed crimson velvet. Beside him, in a deep crimson gown with a cream silk cloak, stood The Lady Eleanor, smiling with quiet content as she watched her sons’ rescuer approach the Dias. The pair would take great pleasure in honouring him for his efforts.

As Robert approached the Dias, standing alone before the Royal family, the assembled Guard who had lined his path and a number of gathered dignitaries took their seats for the ceremony.

Bowing before the Royal family, Robert stood in nervous anticipation. State occasions were not something he was familiar with and even though Ambrose had explained what would happen, he still felt uncomfortable. Marcus smiled with appreciation as he noticed Robert pull distractedly on his jacket. Poking Silas in the back, he leaned forward and whispered:

“Are you going to tell him to stop fidgeting?”  
“Robert,” Joshua began. “You have served The Guard well and you have done this family the ultimate service by saving the lives of Their Highnesses, The Lords Marcus and Silas. You have placed yourself in grave danger repeatedly in the process and you have done so selflessly and without expectation of reward. But I can tell you that such service does not go unrewarded. So, for your consistent bravery, quick thinking and determination, my family and I have the great honour to pronounce you Lord Robert of Danloka and bestow on you the residence of Derrais Manor. What say you, Lord Robert?”

Despite knowing that now it was his turn to speak, Robert was too shocked to even utter a sound. He had expected a medal at most, perhaps a commendation, possibly even a recommendation for promotion to Lieutenant, but this? This was far beyond his expectations and he was too shocked to respond. He barely even noticed when Eleanor leaned forward and tapped her husband’s arm.

“Furthermore, Lord Robert, would you do us the honour of taking the position of Captain of the Guard?”

Robert now wasn’t certain if he was dreaming or even hearing correctly. Had Lord Joshua really just offered him the ultimate promotion? Dumbstruck, Robert merely stared in response, while off to his left, Ambrose glared with frustration, concerned that Lord Joshua would think he had not instructed the stunned Guardsman.

Stepping forward and jumping down from the Dias, much to his father’s surprise, Marcus approached the speechless man.

“Come on, Robert!” he encouraged with broad smile, whilst shaking him gently. “I know neither of us is comfortable in dress uniform. Hurry up and accept so we can get changed!”

Robert slowly began to pull himself out of his daze and nodding briefly, he bowed low, first to Marcus and then to Joshua and Eleanor.

“My Lord Joshua is far too kind, I couldn’t possibly…”  
“And what if it were a Royal Command?” Eleanor interrupted. “What if a certain royal personage wanted to spend more time with her overly busy husband?”  
“My Lady,” Robert restrained himself from laughing at the pointed remark. “Then the honour would be all mine.”  
“Then it’s settled,” Eleanor smiled broadly and, despite the solemnity of the occasion, slipped her hand into Joshua’s. “Let us sign the Act of Ennoblement and then we must celebrate.”  
“Does that mean I can get changed now?” Marcus asked looking back to his parents.  
“No,” Joshua replied before laughing at his son’s crestfallen expression. “There are some additional and very important honours to bestow.”

Marcus headed back onto the Dias leaving Robert to be attended by a somewhat relieved looking Ambrose.

“More awards?” he queried shrugging his shoulders questioningly. A raised eyebrow from Silas was all it took for Marcus to understand. “Oh!” he said, with a broad grin forming. “Yes.”  
“I call to the Dias four brave and intrepid Normal Worlders, without whom my family would not be what it is today. I will now admit that, initially, I did indeed seek out their help, even though they were not aware of the fact. But without their assistance my sons would not be standing here today. They have become firm friends to my family and I hope they will accept our hospitality and invitation to become honorary Carouselians?”

As their father spoke, with Eleanor looking on proudly beside him, both Silas and Marcus beamed their delight at the words.

“Patrick, Pete, Joe and Andy, will you join me, please?”

Glancing amongst each other; combinations of shy, almost embarrassed expressions, broad grins and uncertainty prevented the foursome from moving too far from their seats. Donnie shook his head and laughed as suddenly, all four sprang from their seats and moved hurriedly down the line of chairs, each of them turning confused glances to one another.

“What’s going on?” Silas asked, puzzled at both Marcus’ laughter and the sight of the four friends almost being propelled towards the Dias.  
“Oh, yeah, you don’t know. After you passed out on the myrland, it was what gave Donnie away as being related to us.”  
“What?” Silas pressed.  
“He’s a Gravitor, the same as mother.”  
“Donnie can manipulate gravity? No wonder he’s such a good Catcher!”  
“I know,” Marcus laughed again, winking at Donnie as he looked over. “What a cheat, eh?”

Arriving on the large stage led by Patrick, the four friends were met by Marcus and Silas, now both wearing solemn expressions with only a hint of a faint smile. Silas began:

“I know we dragged you into our world and, at times, I expect you wish we hadn’t, but I cannot fully express how grateful I am to you for helping my family find itself and become close again.”  
“And for that,” Marcus continued, “and for everything else that you’ve done for us on more than one occasion, we ask that you join our world, our community and our family. Welcome to Carousel.”

 

Bewildered by the full meaning behind the words, all four found themselves thanking the brothers, but hardly realising why. Behind them, the Guard and dignitaries were cheering, confusing them further.

“What does that mean?” Patrick finally asked.  
“It means we’re giving you the power to create portals to Carousel from your world.” Silas explained. “You’ll always be able to reach us.”  
“You mean you won’t make us forget you this time?” Pete asked, his smile wider than ever.  
“No, and if you do, we’ll have something to say about it!” Marcus laughed in return.

Pete’s smile was now matched by Joe’s as he realised that Mister Crab had been right. He had been uncertain until now, but he nodded happily to himself, realising he should never have doubted him.

“Plus, here, you’re royalty now,” Donnie added as he brought Laura over to join the celebrations.  
“We can visit?” Andy asked.  
“You have to,” Marcus’ expression had become one of pure joy. “Besides,” he grinned as he watched Silas fuss over Laura. “You’re all invited to the wedding!”

Laura blushed, but Silas blushed more and Marcus smirked teasingly, as behind them a gong sounded, announcing that dinner was about to be served. Patrick smiled. Carousel had felt like a second home for some time; now it was official. Better yet, his new friends were now like family. They would soon return to Normal World, he knew, but he also knew that it wouldn’t be long before they all saw each other again. And for that, as much as for the success of all their adventures, it was time to celebrate.

 

**THE END**


End file.
